UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

AND  OTHER  STUDIES  IN 

ITALIAN  LITERATURE 


A 

TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

AND 

OTHER    STUDIES    IN 
ITALIAN  LITERATURE 


BY 


NATHAN   HASKELL  ROLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PILGRIMS,"  "FAMOUS  COMPOSERS, 
ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
MOFFAT,   YARD   &   COMPANY 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 
MOFFAT,  YARD  &  CO.,  NEW  YORK 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 
PUBLISHED  MARCH,  1908 


4046 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     A  Teacher  of  Dante 3 

«j         II.     Dante  and  the  Picturesque     ...  43 

III.     Lyric  Poetry  and  Petrarca      ...  89 

5 

IV.     Boccaccio  and  the  Novella     .     .     .  142 

V.     The  Rise  of  the  Italian  Drama  .     .  201 

z 

VI.     Goldoni  and  Italian  Comedy      .     .  243 

VII.     Alfieri  and  Tragedy 299 


o 

t 
3 


433GS5 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

AND  OTHER  STUDIES  IN 

ITALIAN  LITERATURE 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

T^\ANTE  and  his  master  in  their  course 
•*^  through  the  inverted  cone  of  hell,  ever 
winding  to  the  left,  come  to  the  third  girone  of 
the  seventh  circle,  where  "over  all  the  sandy  soil, 
with  a  slow  falling,  rain  broad  flakes  of  fire,  like 
snow  on  windless  Alps."  Along  the  banks  of 
a  little  ruddy  stream,  the  fume  of  which  saves  the 
margin  and  the  water  itself  from  being  kindled 
by  the  fire,  they  meet  a  throng  of  tormented 
souls,  one  of  whom  stretches  out  his  hand  and 
plucks  the  younger  poet  by  the  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment, crying: 

"What  a  marvel!" 

Dante,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  baked  visage, 
recognises  him,  and,  bending  over  so  as  almost 
to  touch  his  face  with  his  hand,  answers  with 
respect  in  his  very  words,  as  Boccaccio  expresses 
it  in  his  commentary,  quasi  parlando  admirative: 

"Are  you  here,  Ser  Brunetto  ?" 

Dante  offers  to  sit  down  with  him  and  talk, 
but  Brunetto  Latini  replies: 

"O  son,  whoever  of  this  flock  stops  an  instant 
3 


A.  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 


n4i$4  a;Kurjdred  years  without  defence  when 
the  fire  strikes  him." 

So  they  strode  slowly  side  by  side,  though 
Dante,  on  a  higher  level  of  the  road,  not  daring 
to  go  equal  with  him,  has  to  bend  his  head  "like 
a  man  who  walks  reverently/' 

Brunette  in  the  course  of  their  talk  prophesies 
that  Dante,  if  he  follow  his  star,  cannot  miss  the 
port  of  glory,  and  Dante  replies : 

"  If  all  my  demands  were  satisfied  you  would 
not  now  be  banished  from  human  nature;  for 
in  my  mind  is  fixed  and  now  my  heart  retains 
the  dear,  good,  paternal  image  of  you  in  the 
world,  when  hour  by  hour  you  taught  me  how 
man  immortalises  himself.  And  in  what  esteem 
I  hold  you  it  behooves  me  while  I  live  to  show 
in  my  tongue." 

The  interview  ends  with  the  approach  of  a 
new  smoke  rising  from  the  sandy  soil  and 
Brunette  Latini  thus  takes  his  leave: 

"Men  come  with  whom  I  must  not  be.  Be 
my  "Tesoro"  recommended  unto  thee,  wherein  I 
still  live,  and  more  I  ask  not." 

So  little  is  really  known  of  Dante's  life  that, 
as  in  the  case  of  Chaucer,  Shakespeare  and 
scores  of  other  famous  men,  biographers  have 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  5 

boldly  amplified  obscure  hints  into  categorical 
statements  and  then  built  elaborate  super- 
structures on  these  semi-imaginary  foundations. 
Dante  acquired  his  learning  somewhere,  and 
those  beautifully  complimentary  lines  — 

Che  in  la  mente  m  e  fitta  ed  or  m  accuora 
La  cara  buona  imagine  paterna 
Dt  vot  nel  mondo,  quando,  ad  ora  ad  ora 
Mi  'nsegnavate  come  I'uom  s'eterna  —^_ 

certainly  give  a  plausible  basis  for  the  state- 
ment, that  is  found  in  almost  all  the  lives  of 
Dante,  that  Brunetto  Latini  was  his  teacher. 
In  spite  of  Imbriani,  who  learnedly  argues  to  the 
contrary,  and  in  spite  of  Scartazzini,  who  de- 
clares that  the  theory  is  now  generally  discredited, 
we  will  assume  that  such  was  the  fact,  but  we 
will  not  allow  ourselves  to  insinuate  that 
Dante  repaid  former  acts  of  discipline  on  the 
part  of  his  preceptor  by  dooming  him  to  a  rain 
of  fire  midway  in  the  pit  of  the  Inferno.  We 
know  nothing  of  Brunetto  as  an  instructor,  but 
the  debt  that  Dante  owed  to  him  as  a  poet  is 
easily  demonstrated.  In  this  sense  our  title  is 
justified.  It  is  also  an  instructive  lesson,  for 
it  shows  the  immensity  of  the  gulf  that  separates 
the  two. 


6  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Brunette  Latini,  ere  he  flies  across  the  sandy 
plain  like  "those  who  at  Verona  run  after  the 
green  pallio"  fleeting  "like  one  who  wins  and 
not  like  one  who  loses,"  recommends  to  Dante 
his  "Tesoro." 

Now  who  was  Brunette  Latini  and  what  was 
his  "Tesoro"? 

The  year  of  Brunette's  birth  is  not  certain. 
A  portrait  engraved  from  an  oil  painting  in 
Florence  gives  the  date  of  his  birth  as  1230; 
other  authorities  refer  it  back  ten  or  even  fifteen 
years.  His  father  was  Bonacorsi  Latini,  who 
must  have  died  before  1254. 

Villari,  the  Florentine  chronicler,  says  that  he 
was  cominciatore  e  maestro  In  digrossare  i  Fioren- 
tini  e  farli  scortt  in  bene  parlare  ed  in  sapere 
guidare  e  reggere  la  nostra  repubblica  secondo 
la  politica;  in  other  words,  that  he  was  supreme 
master  in  rhetoric  and  eloquence  and  taught  the 
Florentines  the  precepts  of  good  government. 
Boccaccio  calls  him'  a  valente  uomo,  a  man  of 
ability,  in  "several  of  the  liberal  arts  and  in 
philosophy,  though  his  chief  profession  was  that 
of  a  notary" — Burnectus  notarius  filius  quon- 
dam Bonnacorsi  Latini.  Such  is  his  affidavit 
on  a  deed  of  sale. 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  7 

Boccaccio  goes  on  to  say  that  having  made  a 
mistake  in  a  contract  drawn  up  by  him  he  was 
charged  with  falsita  and,  preferring  to  be 
called  a  forger  to  confessing  his  error,  he  left 
Florence  in  indignation  and  left  behind  him  a 
book  which  he  had  composedcalled  "II  Teso- 
retto." 

Boccaccio  in  this  charge  against  Brunette  has 
been  followed  by  other  commentators,  but  the 
probability  is  that  it  was  invented  by  one  of  his 
political  opponents,  he  being  a  Guelf.  Boc- 
caccio also  states  that  he  went  to  Paris,  was 
there  for  a  long  time  and  was  thought  to  have 
died  there.  Here  again  Boccaccio  erred,  for 
Ricordano  Malispini  chronicles  the  fact  that 
when  Alfonso  of  Spain  became  Emperor  the 
Guelfs  of  Florence  sent  ambassadors  urging 
him  to  take  their  side  in  the  great  quarrel  that 
was  agitating  their  city:  "And  the  ambassador 
was  Ser  Brunetto  Latini,  a  man  of  great  judg- 
ment; but  before  the  mission  was  accomplished 
the  Florentines  were  defeated  at  Monte  Aperti, 
and  King  Manfred  waxed  greatly  in  power, 
winning  almost  all  'Talia,  and  the  might  of  the 
Church  was  greatly  diminished." 

The  defeat  of  the  Guelfs  took  place  on  the 


8  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

4th  of  September,  1260.  Brunette  Latini  him- 
self chronicles  the  fact  in  the  last  chapter  of  the 
second  part  of  Book  I.  of  his  "Livres  dou 
Tresor": 

"This  Frederick  [II.]  reigned  about  thirty 
years,  until  by  reason  of  the  grievous  persecu- 
tions which  he  inflicted  upon  the  Holy  Church 
he  was  excommunicated  by  sentence  of  the 
Apostolic  fathers  and  finally  was  deposed 
from  his  dignity  by  sentence  of  Pope  Innocent 
IV.,  with  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  General 
Council.  And  after  his  death,  as  God  willed, 
the  empire  was  long  without  either  king  or 
emperor  until  Manfred  [Mainfroiz],  the  son  of 
the  aforementioned  Frederick,  though  not  born 
in  legal  marriage,  seized  the  kingdom  of  Naples 
and  Sicily  \le  roiaume  de  Pullle  et  de  Secili\ 
contrary  to  God  and  contrary  to  right,  since  it 
was  all  against  Holy  Church.  And  therefore  he 
made  many  wars  and  divers  persecutions  against 
all  the  Italians  who  held  to  Holy  Church,  espe- 
cially against  the  Guelf  party  of  Florence,  so 
that  they  were  driven  out  of  the  city  and  their 
property  was  subjected  to  fire  and  destruction; 
and  with  them  was  driven  out  also  maistre 
Brunez  Latin;  and  by  reason  of  this  war  he 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  9 

went  as  an  exile  into  France,  where  he  wrote 
this  book  for  love  of  his  friends." 

In  another  passage,  not  found  in  all  manu- 
scripts, he  relates  how  he  went  to  France  to 
make  his  living  there  and  found  a  fellow  citizen, 
also  a  Guelf,  very  rich,  very  polite  and  very 
sensible,  who  did  him  great  honour  and  proved 
very  useful  to  him;  and  as  this  friend  was 
naturally  a  good  speaker  and  was  very  anxious 
to  know  what  had  been  said  by  the  ancients 
regarding  rhetoric,  Brunette  Latini,  who  was  a 
careful  student  of  literature  and  much  given  to 
the  study  of  rhetoric,  wrote  the  book  and  dedi- 
cated it  to  his  friend. 

Brunette's  stay  in  Paris  could  not  have  been 
very  long,  for  Manfred  was  defeated  by  King 
Charles  on  the  last  day  of  February,  1265,  the 
Ghibellines  left  Florence  in  their  turn  in  the 
following  November,  and  the  Guelfs  were  defi- 
nitely reestablished  two  years  later,  and  in  1269 
Brunetto  Latini  was  protonotario  della  curia 
for  King  Charles  of  Sicily.  In  1273  he  was 
notary  and  secretary  of  councils  of  the  Com- 
mune of  Florence.  In  1280  he  was  one  of  the 
signatories  in  the  famous  peace  between  the 
Guelfs  and  Ghibellines  conducted  by  Cardinal 


io  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Latino.  He  had  other  honourable  functions, 
which  would  seem  to  do  away  with  Boccaccio's 
indictment  of  him  as  a  "forger." 

He  died  in  Florence  in  1294  and  was  buried 
in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  where 
the  inscription  reads:  Sepulcrum  Ser  Brunetti 
Latini  et  filiorum.  Villani  says: 

"In  the  said  year  1294  there  died  in  Florence 
a  worthy  citizen  named  Ser  Brunetto  Latini, 
who  was  a  great  philosopher  and  was  a  supreme 
master  [sommo  maestro]  in  rhetoric,  both  in  theory 
and  practice[ta«/o  in  bene  sapere  dire  come  in  bene 
dittare],znd  he  it  was  who  expounded  the  rhetoric 
of  Cicero  and  wrote  the  good  and  useful  book 
called  'Tesoro*  and  'II  Tesoretto*  and  many 
other  works  on  philosophy  and  dealing  with 
vices  and  virtues,  and  was  secretary  or  speaker 
of  our  commune  [dittatore  del  nostro  comune]." 

Dante  places  Brunetto  Latini  in  that  part  of 
hell  where  the  sins  against  nature  are  punished. 
Villari  says  fu  mondano  uomo,  which  may  or 
may  not  be  interpreted  in  a  derogatory  sense. 
Brunetto  himself  in  the  twenty-first  capitolo  of 
his  "Tesoretto"  gives  some  colour  to  an  evil 
suggestion  in  the  word.  After  relating  his 
conversion  he  says: 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  11 

Che  sat  cbe  siam  tenutt 
Un  poco  mondanetti. 

But  on  the  same  principle  of  interpretation  one 
might  charge  him  with  being  guilty  of  all  the 
sins  that  he  animadverts  upon  in  the  same 
chapter,  and  this  would  surely  be  absurd.  It 
is  easier  to  explain  the  matter  by  remembering 
that  although  Dante  and  Brunetto  were  both 
Guelfs  they  seemed  to  have  belonged  to 
rival  factions.  Moreover,  Brunetto  himself 
utters  his  indignation  against  those  who  are 
guilty  of  the  horrible  vice  which  the  flakes  of 
flame  forever  falling  brand  but  never  purify. 

A  portrait  of  Brunetto  Latini  is  to  be  seen 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  in  Oxford.  A  different 
one  is  preserved  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Podesta's 
palace,  while  in  the  cupola  of  Dante's  tomb  at 
Ravenna  the  four  medallions  decorating  the 
vault  respectively  represent  Vergil,  Can  Grande, 
Guido  Cavalcanti  and  Brunetto  Latini. 

Brunetto  Latini,  as  we  have  seen,  recommends 
his  "Tesoro"  or  Thesaurus  to  Dante  and  posterity. 
It  is  an  open  question  whether  he  means  "Li 
Livres  dou  Tresor,"  a  monumental  compilation 
written  in  French,  but  often  called  "II  Gran 
Tesoro,"  or  his  poetical  crystallisation  of  the 


12          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

same  written  in  short  rhyming  Italian  couplets. 
Why  did  he  write  "  Li  Tresors "  in  French  ? 
He  himself  tells  why: 

"And  if  any  ask  why  this  work  is  written  in 
romance,  according  to  the  language  of  the 
French,  while  we  are  Italian,  I  will  state  that 
it  is  for  two  reasons:  first,  we  are  in  France, 
and  secondly  because  French  is  the  more 
agreeable  and  widely  known  than  many  other 
languages "  —  or,  according  to  other  texts,  '*  is 
more  delightful,  more  ornate  and  more  com- 
monly known  than  other  languages."* 

The  work  is  divided  into  three  books.  The 
first,  consisting  of  five  parts,  in  202  chapters, 
treats  of  the  origin  of  the  world,  and  contains 
a  summary  of  sacred  and  profane  history  and 
dissertations  on  astronomy,  geography  and 
natural  history.  Some  of  the  animals  which 
he  describes  in  the  fifth  part  would  add  much 
to  the  attractiveness  of  a  circus.  Brunetto 
Latini  took  not  a  little  of  his  information  from 
Pliny  and  the  fascinating  bestiaries  which  were 


*  Et  se  aucuns  demandoit  par  quoi  cist  livres  est  escriz  en  romans, 
selonc  le  langage  des  Francois,  puisque  nos  somes  Ytaliens,  je  diroie 
que  ce  est?  par  ij.  raisons:  I'une,  car  nos  somes  en  France;  et  fautre 
force  que  francois  est  plus  delitaubles  lengages  et  plus  communs  que 
moult  d'autres. 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  13 

so  popular  all  through  the  Middle  Ages.  He 
gives  precious  details  regarding  the  habits  of 
sirens,  the  wonderful  powers  of  salamanders, 
halcyons,  the  phoenix  and  the  unicorn. 

The  second  part  treats  of  virtues  and  vices 
and  is  a  sort  of  abridgement  of  Aristotle's  Ethics, 
complemented  with  the  teachings  of  mains  autres 
sages:  the  apostles,  Seneca,  St.  Bernard,  Cicero, 
Ovid  and  others.  The  third  part  is  devoted  to 
an  exposition  of  rhetoric:  les  enseignemens 
de  bone  parleure,  and  to  a  brief  treatise  on  the 
governmenz  des  miles  and  des  cites.  A  Latin 
note,  possibly  emanating  from  the  copyist  and 
appended  to  the  very  end,  states  that  the  work 
was  finished  die  xix.  Augusti  anno  Domini 
MCCLXXXIII." 

Interesting  as  is  "Li  Livres  dou  Tresor" 
from  an  historical,  literary  and  linguistic  stand- 
point, there  is  nothing  in  it  that  throws  any 
light  upon  the  training  of  Dante.  He  may 
very  likely  have  known  "Li  Tresors,"  for  the 
compilation  immediately  became  extremely  pop- 
ular, as  is  proved  by  the  multitudes  of  manu- 
scripts, in  nearly  every  dialect  of  mediaeval 
French,  that  have  come  down  to  us,  and  by  the 
Italian  paraphrases  that  were  made  of  it. 


i4  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  "Tesoretto,"  on  the  other  hand,  has  a  defi- 
nite value  in  the  study  of  the  "Commedia."  A 
very  superficial  examination  will  show  that 
Dante  did  not  hesitate  to  imitate  Brunetto  Latini 
in  many  curious  little  details. 

A  short  analysis  of  this  poem  may,  therefore, 
be  interesting  to  Dante  students  who  are  un- 
familiar with  the  original. 

It  begins  with  a  dedication  to  the  worthy 
Signore  whose  superior  cannot  be  found  on  earth, 
who  has  no  equal  either  in  peace  or  in  war;  fault- 
less, and  of  lofty  lineage;  a  second  Solomon  in 
wisdom,  in  all  benignity  the  like  of  Alexander, 
who  holds  as  nothing  lands,  gold  and  silver;  by 
lofty  understanding  of  all  poetry  wears  the  crown 
and  mantle  of  courage  and  fine  valour,  thus  equal 
to  the  gallant  Achilles  in  fame  acquired,  to  the 
good  Hector  of  Troy,  to  Lancelot  and  Tristan; 
in  eloquence,  either  in  council  or  in  debate,  the 
equal  of  the  good  Roman  Tullius;  the  superior 
in  reasoning  of  Seneca  and  Cato;  in  fine,  the  very 
paragon  of  all  good  qualities.  To  him  he  says : 

I,  Brunetto  Latino, 
Myself  recommend  to  you 
And  now  present  and  send  to  you 
This  Treasure  which  I  hold 
Worth  more  than  wealth  of  gold. 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  15 

He  begs  him  to  hold  it  dear  and  keep  it  as  a 
miser  keeps  his  treasures,  for  he  declares  that 
he  has  seen  many  precious  things  and  jewels 
held  in  low  esteem  by  people. 

"I  know  well,"  he  says,  "that  good  is  much 
less  valuable  to  him  who  keeps  it  hidden  in 
himself  than  that  which  is  spread  abroad,  just 
as  the  candle  shines  less  on  him  who  hides  it. 
But  I  have  already  written  things  of  great 
tenderness,  both  in  prose  and  in  rhyme,  and 
then  most  secretly  given  them  to  some  dear 
friend,  only,  and  I  grieve  to  confess  it,  to 
see  them  afterward  in  the  hands  of  chil- 
dren, and  so  multiplied  that  all  secrecy  had 
vanished." 

"  If  such  a  thing  should  happen  to  this,"  he 
says,  "  let  it  be  cursed  and  thrown  into  hell." 

This  long  rhymed  dedication  leaves  open 
the  question  for  whom  it  was  intended.  M. 
Chabaille,  the  editor  of  the  Imperial  edition  of 
"Li  Tresors,"  does  not  hesitate  to  state  that 
//  valente  Signore  was  the  Florentine  poet 
Rustico  di  Filippo,  whom  Brunette  mentions  by 
name  in  the  second  chapter  of  his  "  Faveletto," 
which  is  sometimes  considered  as  a  part  of  the 
"Tesoretto";  but  the  royal  comparisons  which 


16  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

he  makes  of  his  patron  and  the  rather  fulsome 
flattery  which  he  heaps  on  him  lend  some 
plausibility  to  the  Abbe  Zannoni's  conjecture 
that  it  was  written  in  Paris  and  dedicated 
to  Louis  IX.,  who  mounted  the  throne  in 
November,  1226,  and  died  in  July,  1270,  who 
he  says  "  was  of  high  lineage,  gallant  in 
war,  great  in  peace,  so  humble-minded  and 
benignant  that  he  accounted  state  and  wealth 
as  nothing,  of  vast  knowledge  and  eloquent, 
strong  in  misfortunes  and  eminent  in  every 
virtue." 

If  the  "Tresors"  was  written  in  Paris,  "II 
Tesoretto"  must  also  have  been  composed 
shortly  before  or  at  least  while  he  had  the  "  Gran 
Tesoro"  already  planned  in  his  mind;  because 
at  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  capitolo  he  says: 
"In  this  little  book  I  will  speak  openly  [senza 
veste]  of  Courtesy  and  Generosity  and  Loyalty 
and  Valour,  of  all  these  I  will  speak,  but  of  the 
others  I  will  not  promise  to  speak  or  to  relate; 
but  whoever  may  wish  to  find  them  may  search  in 
the  "  Gran  Tesoro"  which  I  will  write  for  those 
who  have  their  hearts  set  higher,  and  there  I 
will  make  a  great  endeavour  to  treat  them  more 
at  length  in  the  French  tongue: 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  17 

Cerchi  nel  gran  Tesoro 
Ch'  to  faro  per  coloro 
Ch' hanno   lo   cor   piu    alto. 
La  faro  tl  gran  salto 
Per  dirle  piii  distese 
Nella  lingua  franzese." 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  Brunette  felt  a  greater 
tenderness  for  his  poetical  thesaurus  than  for 
his  French  one;  that  Dante  took  from  the 
dedication  the  recommendation  to  his  patron 
to  treat  it  as  a  treasure. 

The  second  chapter  relates  how  the  "  Teso- 
retto,  "  which  he  still  calls  "Tesoro,"  "begins 
at  the  time  when  Florence  was  flourishing  and 
was  fruitful,  so  that  it  was  in  all  respects  the 
mistress  of  Tuscany."  This  wise  commune, 
he  goes  on  to  say,  sent  him  on  an  embassy  to 
the  mighty  King  Nanfosse,  that  is  to  say,  Alfonso. 

So  in  1260  he  took  companions  and  went  to 
Spain  and  accomplished  the  mission  which  had 
been  entrusted  to  him,  and  then  without  delay 
started  to  return;  but  on  the  road  through  the 
plain  of  Roncesvalles  he  fell  in  with  a  student 
on  a  bay  mule  coming  from  Bologna,  and  when 
he  demanded  news  of  Tuscany  in  gentle  and 
plain  speech,  the  traveller  told  him  courteously 
that  the  Guelfs  of  Florence  had  by  evil 


i8  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

providence  and  force  of  war  been  banished  and 
many  had  suffered  imprisonment  and  death. 
And  he  says  he  turned  to  Nature;  for  though 
every  man  who  comes  into  the  world  is  born 
first  to  his  parents,  then  for  his  relatives,  and 
then  for  his  Commune,  still  Nature  is,  in  last 
analysis,  the  mother  of  all.* 

And  as  he  goes  his  heart  almost  bursts  with 
grief  to  think  of  the  great  honour,  the  wealth 
and  the  power  —  ricca  potenza  —  which  Florence 
once  enjoyed,  and  as  he  walks  along  he  loses 
the  highway  and  finds  himself  in  the  midst  of 
a  strange  forest.  Brunette  Latini's  selva  diversa 
is,  of  course,  the  selva  oscura  in  which  Dante 
finds  himself  "in  the  midst  of  the  road  of  this 
our  life." 

Brunette,  suddenly  coming  to  himself,  looks 
toward  a  mountain  and  beholds  a  vast  throng 
of  strange  animals  —  such,  perhaps,  as  he  after- 
ward described  in  the  bestiary  division  of  his 
"Tresors"  —  "men  and  women,  beasts,  ser- 


*Ed  to  ponendo  cura 
Tornai  alia  natura 
Ch'audivi  dir  che  tene 
Ogn'uom  ch'  al  mondo  vene 
E  nasce  primamente 
Al  padre,  e  al  parente 
E  pot  al  suo  Communo. 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  19 

pents  and  wild  creatures  and  fish  in  great  schools 
and  every  kind  of  flying  birds  and  herbs  and 
fruits  and  flowers  and  stones  and  pearls  such  as 
are  greatly  prized  and  so  great  a  multitude  of 
other  things  that  no  speaking  man  could  name 
them  or  classify  them." 

But  he  could  see  "that  they  obeyed  a  figure 
and  in  accordance  with  her  commands  finished 
and  began,  died  and  generated,  and  took  their 
characteristics." 

This  figure,  which  is  the  personification  or 
incarnation  of  Nature,  touches  the  very  sky, 
which  appears  her  veil,  and  sometimes  causes 
it  to  change  and  sometimes  to  grow  stormy. 
At  her  command  the  Firmament  moves  and  un- 
folds, so  that  the  whole  world  seems  to  be  enclosed 
in  her  arms.  Now  her  face  smiles  and  then  again 
it  displays  anger  and  pain.  And  Brunetto  says: 

"And  I,  beholding  the  lofty  circumstance 
and  her  mighty  power  and  her  arbitrary  will 
[some  editions,  however,  read  clemenza  instead 
of  licenzd],  awakened  from  my  melancholy 
thoughts  and  resolved  on  sufficient  hardihood 
to  come  into  her  presence  with  all  reverence, 
so  that  I  might  see  all  her  power  and  learn 
surely  of  her  state." 


20  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

As  he  regards  her  closer  he  beholds  that  the 
hair  of  her  head  is  of  fine  gold,  parted  without 
tresses,  and  all  the  other  charms  which  are 
united  under  her  white  brow  —  the  beautiful 
eyes  and  eyebrows  and  the  rosy  lips  and  the 
clear-cut  nose  and  the  pearly  teeth.  That  last 
detail  is  literally  dente  argentato  —  silvery — for 
the  sake  of  the  rhyme;  for  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  exigencies  of  these  settenarie  couplets 
sometimes  lead  Ser  Brunetto  into  forced 
rhymes,  into  quaint  obscurities ,  and  the  really 
fine  imagery  of  personified  Nature  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  third  chapter  is  not  kept  up  to  the 
end. 

As  he  regards  her  he  knows  that  not  in  speech 
or  in  writing  could  he  or  any  man  do  justice  to  her 
beauty  or  her  might  in  air,  or  in  earth,  or  in  the 
sea,  in  creation  and  in  destruction,  however 
life  begins  or  however  it  ends. 

But  as  soon  as  this  majestic  personage  beholds 
him  she  smiles  on  him  and  says:  lo  sono  la 
Natura. 

I  am  Nature 
And  I  am  the  creature 
Of  the  Sovereign  Creator. 
By  Him  was  I  created, 
By  Him  was  I  begun ; 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  21 

But  His  almighty  power 
Had  no  beginning  hour. 
It  has  no  end  or  limit, 
But  all  that  I  create, 
Whate'er  illuminate, 
Must  meet  its  final  fate. 
He  is  omnipotent  — 
But  nothing  can  I  do 
Unless  He  wills  me  to. 
He  foresees  everything, 
His  eye  is  everywhere, 
He  knows  all  that  is  past 
And  what  the  future  '11  bring 
And  what  is  doing  now. 
Save  what  He  may  allow, 
I  am  quite  impotent. 
I  make  whate'er  he  wills, 
Through   me   all   life   fulfils; 
I  am  His  working  hand 
And  act  at  His  command. 
And  thus  in  earth  and  air 
I  am  his  own  vicaire. 

She  goes  on  to  speak  at  length,  and  very  didac- 
tically, of  the  "four  modes"  set  in  operation  at 
the  beginning  of  time,  the  seven  days  of  Crea- 
tion, of  the  birth  of  Christ,  His  Mother  pure  and 
wholly  chaste,  a  Virgin  uncorrupted,  His  death 
that  men  might  live.  Then,  descending  to 
particulars,  she  relates  the  details  of  creation  day 
by  day  —  on  the  first,  the  jocund  light  —  la 


22  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

luce  gioconda  —  the  sky,  the  earth,  the  sea,  the 
air,  and  the  angels,  each  separately  and  from 
nothing;  on  the  second,  the  Firmament;  on 
the  fourth  all  the  luminaries,  the  diverse  and 
varied  stars;  on  the  fifth  every  creature  that 
swims  in  aqua  pura,  and  so  on  till  the  sixth  day, 
when  Adam  and  Eve  were  created,  only  to  be 
driven  from  Paradise  and  to  become  mortal 
and  to  entail  all  manner  of  woes  on  their 
descendants,  because  the  ancient  serpent,  our 
enemy,  seduced  in  such  a  shameful  way  that 
first  woman. 

Then  it  seems  to  him  that  all  creatures  and 
things  approach  Nature  to  ask  her  permission 
to  fulfil  their  mission,  and  so  great  is  his  anxiety 
to  know  the  truth  of  all  that  she  had  said  that 
each  hour  seemed  to  him  longer  than  a  day,  and 
instead  of  going  on  his  way  he  kneels  down  and 
begs  Nature  to  complete  her  great  story  —  tutta 
la  grande  stona.  , 

Accordingly  she  explains  to  him  the  subtle 
genius  and  power  of  the  human  mind.  How 
first  and  foremost  God  created  at  the  head  of 
all  created  things  the  angelic  substance  which 
is  of  His  own  nature  and  gave  them  all  good 
things  and  precious,  all  virtues  and  eternal 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  23 

salvation  and  beauty  of  limbs  and  complexion 
and  immortality;  how  then  into  Lucifer's  mind 
entered  pride  and  he  felt  himself  equal  to  God; 
but  in  the  struggle  he  was  thrust  out  of  the 
kingdom  with  all  those  who  held  with  him  and 
fell  as  if  rained  into  hell,  into  sempiternal 
fire.  How  afterward,  in  the  guise  of  a  serpent, 
he  deceived  Eve  and  then  Adam,  thus  bringing 
on  man  pain  and  discord  and  sorrow  and  tra- 
vail. From  that  moment  began  the  division  of 
time: 

//  giorno  e  I'mese  e  I 'anno 
Venne  da  quell'  tnganno  — 

and  sorrow  of  bearing  and  labour  in  the  earth  and 
war  and  homicide  and  sin. 

She  cannot  go  into  the  divine  subtlety  of 
creation  of  the  fruitful  earth  without  any  sowing 
of  seed  or  affair  of  living  man,  but  she  calls  his 
attention  to  the  fact  that  nature  is  full  of  variety 
—  no  two  animals  are  alike  nor  is  there  any 
concordance  either  in  form  or  in  face.  But  this 
she  declares  is  certain  —  that  man  stands  above 
all  created  things  and  that  God  omnipotent 
desires  that  all  his  trials  should  end  for  the  best; 
according  to  the  proverb  that  the  end  will  crown 
the  work;  man,  therefore,  is  the  noblest  and 


24  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

worthiest  and  most  precious  of  all  things  and 
has  sovereignty  over  all  the  earth.  Other 
animals  face  the  ground,  signifying  the  great 
baseness  of  their  condition,  being  without  reason, 
but  man  has  noble  speech,  reason  and  science, 
and  the  mind  of  man  is  so  worthy  and  dear  and 
noble  and  excellent  that  it  is  lodged  in  the  head 
and  is  the  light  and  crown  of  the  whole  person; 
is  able  to  discern  good  and  evil. 

"In  the  head,"  she  says,  "are  three  cells. 
The  one  in  front  is  the  seat  or  receptacle  of  all 
the  intellect  and  the  power  of  learning  what- 
ever you  can  understand.  In  the  middle  one  are 
reason  and  discretion,  the  power  of  discern- 
ment of  good  and  evil  and  of  the  crooked  and 
the  straight.  The  one  behind  contains  the  glory 
of  good  memory,  which  retains  whatever  comes 
into  it,  the  source  of  the  five  senses  whose  func- 
tions are  to  bring  to  the  cells  good  and  evil,  facts 
and  fancies." 

She  goes  on  to  tell  of  the  four  humours  of 
different  colours  which  make  the  different  com- 
plexions or  temperaments  of  man  —  the  melan- 
choly, the  sanguine,  the  phlegmatic  and  the 
choleric;  of  the  four  elements  —  air,  water,  fire, 
earth,  and  how  cold  is  opposed  to  heat,  dry  to 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  25 

wet.  Then  of  the  seven  planets,  each  in  its 
parete  or  circle,  and  of  the  twelve  signs  of  the 
zodiac  with  their  specific  duty  of  giving  the  differ- 
ent qualities  of  weather.  There  is  a  hint  of  the 
astrological  importance  of  these  heavenly  pheno- 
mena, but  Brunetto  was  evidently  more  inter- 
ested in  what  he  calls  storlomia,  or  astronomy, 
than  in  the  more  subtle  division  of  mediaeval 
science. 

When  she  has  finished  her  long  genesis  which 
is  very  curious  in  comparison  with  Milton's 
cosmogony,  both  perhaps  being  in  no  small 
measure  derived  from  Boethius,  Nature  causes 
him  actually  to  behold  the  principal  rivers,  four 
in  number,  flowing  out  of  Paradise;  Euphrates, 
rolling  down  toward  Hipotanla  precious  stones 
and  gems  of  vast  value  and  purest  water;  Gion, 
bathing  the  whole  land  of  Egypt,  restoring  the 
injury  that  Egypt  gets  in  never  having  rain; 
the  Tigris,  never  seen  by  living  man,  the  Phison, 
so  distant  and  strange  that  none  ever  navigates 
it,  dividing  from  us  the  Levant,  where  are  jewels 
of  priceless  value:  balsam  and  amber  and 
purple,  aloes  and  cardamon,  ginger  and  cinna- 
mon and  many  other  spices,  the  best  and  purest 
and  most  medicinal;  and  tigers  and  griffons, 


26  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

elephants  (leofanti)  and  lions,  camels  and 
dragumenes,  basilisks,  hyenas  and  panthers  and 
beavers  and  ants  of  gold  and  many  other  animals, 
the  names  of  which  happen  to  fall  conveniently 
into  rhyme. 

The  golden  ants  —  formiche  dell'  oro  —  of 
which  he  makes  mention  are  more  fully  de- 
scribed in  "Li  Tresors."  They  are  Ethio- 
pian insects  as  big  as  dogs,  and  they  dig  up  the 
gold  with  their  feet,  and  then  guard  it  so  faith- 
fully that  none  can  get  at  it  and  live!  The 
Ethiopians,  however,  had  a  method  of  outwitting 
these  gold-loving  creatures,  and  thus  they  grew 
richer  than  other  nations.  Brunetto  Latini 
thus  anticipated  Edgar  Allan  Poe's  "  Gold- 
Bug,'*  as  well  as  Dante.  Then  the  potent 
Queen  extends  her  hand  toward  the  ocean-sea 
which  girdles  and  encloses  the  land,  and  has  a 
nature  hard  to  comprehend,  growing  greatly  for 
some  hours  and  then  sinking  again;  and  near 
this  ocean-sea  are  the  great  columns  which 
Hercules  the  powerful  set  up  as  signs  to  all 
nations  that  here  the  land  ended;  and  hence 
extends  the  navigation  from  Spain  to  Pisa  and 
Greece  and  Tuscany  and  Egypt;  but  what  he 
learned  in  this  visit  he  will  tell  in  prose,  and 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  27 

therefore  you  will  find  it  in  the  geographical 
part  of  his  "Gran  Tesoro,"  written,  as  he  re- 
peatedly informs  us,  in  French. 

Then,  since  Nature  perceives  that  it  is  time 
for  him  to  depart,  she  begins  with  grace  and 
love  to  speak  her  farewell,  and  gives  him  direc- 
tions how  to  go  safely  through  the  forest  until 
he  shall  see  Filosofia  and  all  her  sisters  and  hear 
news  from  the  four  Virtues,  and,  if  he  likes, 
may  find  Ventura  —  that  is  to  say,  Fortune  — 
and  if  he  would  put  his  trust  in  one  who  has  no 
certain  way  he  will  see  Baratteria  —  that  is, 
Barter  —  who  gives  good  and  ill.  If  he  is  fear- 
less he  may  see  God  and  Love  and  many  people 
in  bliss  and  woe. 

Then,  having  kissed  her  feet,  he  sees  her  no 
more.  Brunette  Latini  sets  forth 

Through  the  narrow  road 
Seeking  to  see, 
To  touch  and  to  know 
Whatever  is  fated. 

And  soon  he  finds  himself  in  the  desert,  where 
is  neither  certain  road  nor  path.  His  ex- 
clamation : 

De  cbe  paese  fero 
Trovai  in  quelle  parti  !  — 


28  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"Ah,  what  a  wild  country  I  found  in  those 
parts "  —  corresponds  closely  enough  with 
Dante's 

Abi  quanta  a  dir  qual  era  e  cosa  dura 
Questa  selva  selvaggia  ed  aspra  e  forte ! 

Read  the  first  lines  of  the  first  canto  of  the 

Inferno  and  then  read  these  lines  of  Brunetto: 

i 

Quivi  non  ha  viaggio 
Quivt  non  ha  persone, 
Quivi  non  ha  mangtone, 
Non  bestta,  non  uccello, 
Non  fiume,  non  ruscello, 
Non   formica,   ne   mosca, 
Ne  cosa  che'  i'  conosca: — 

All  savage,  no  way,  no  person,  no  dwelling,  no 
beast,  no  bird,  no  river,  no  brook,  no  ant,  no 
fly,  nothing  that  he  had  ever  seen!  And  as 
he  looks  about  he  gives  himself  up  for  dead,  for 
this  wilderness  —  quel  paese  snagiato  —  stretches 
three  hundred  miles  in  every  direction,  but  he 
plucks  up  courage,  and  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day  he  finds  himself  in  a  great  jocund  plain,  the 
gayest  in  the  world  and  the  most  delightful, 
and  he  will  not  relate  all  he  finds  and  sees,  nor 
can  he  believe  his  eyes,  for  he  sees  emperors  and 
kings  and  grand  signers  and  masters  of  science 
and,  above  all,  says  he: 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  29 

I  saw  an  empress 

Whose  name  the  people  said 

Was  Virtue  and  the  head 

And  salvation 

Of  all  politeness 

And  of  good  manners 

And  of  the  good  rules 

Whereby  the  people  live. 

And  with  my  eyes  I  saw 

Four  queenly  daughters  born  of  her. 

These  four  daughters  are  Prudence,  Temper- 
ance, Bravery  and  Justice,  and  by  a  miracle 
they  seem  now  together  one  and  then  separate 
and  divided.  And  each  in  this  quality  of  divi- 
sion having  her  own  lineage  and  course  and 
affairs,  has  her  court  and  state. 

He  goes  first  to  the  court  of  Prudence,  where 
she  is  served  by  four  royal  women :  Providence, 
Respect,  Knowledge  and  Instruction;  then  to 
the  palace  of  Temperance  with  her  retinue  of 
five  grand  princesses :  Exactness,  Honesty,  Chas- 
tity, Understanding  and  Restraint,  correspond- 
ing to  the  five  senses  and  holding  together  rich 
converse  of  great  edification;  thence  to  the  great 
fortress  where  Bravery  (Fortezza  or  Prodezza) 
dwells  surrounded  by  six  countesses:  Magnifi- 
cence, Faithfulness,  Security,  Magnanimity, 
Patience  and  Firmness.  Thence  a  little  farther 


30  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

on  and  he  sees  "the  crowned  lady  in  a  hall  hold- 
ing high  festival  and  over  the  entrance  in  gilded 
letters:  "I  am  called  Justice  everywhere," 
and  elsewhere  he  sees  four  maestre  grandl^ 
to  whose  commands  almost  all  the  nations  are 
obedient. 

These  eighteen,  or  as  Brunetto  says,  for  the 
sake  of  the  meter,  these  twenty  donne  really 
royal  ladies,  the  offspring  of  Virtue,  have  such 
grandeur  and  nobleness  that  no  tongue  or  pen 
could  do  justice  to  them;  but  those  who  are 
most  worshipful  and  useful  to  men  are  four: 

Cortesia  e  Larghezza 

E  Leanza  e  Prodezza — 

Courtesy  and  Generosity  and  Loyalty  and 
Prowess.  Three  of  these  he  finds  in  the  casa 
dl  Glustlzla.  First,  Generosity  gives  him  at 
considerable  length  her  instructions  in  regard 
to  all  wise  living  and  shows  him  how  no  man  by 
generosity  ever  comes  to  poverty,  how  he  is 
broad  and  sage  who  spends  his  money  to  save 
his  penny.  She  expands  the  Latin  proverb 
bis  dat  qul  clto  dat  into  the  jingling  couplet — 

Che    donar    tostamente 
E    donar   doppiamente. 

But  she  guards  against  foolish  giving  and  all 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  31 

vain  glory  or  spending  in  taverns  and  throwing 
away  money  in  drink.  "  I  have  seen,"  she  says, 
"persons  buying  capons,  partridges  or  a  great  fish 
where  there  was  no  gain  from  the  expenditure!" 

In  the  companionship  of  a  cavalier  valente 
to  whom  Larghezza  directed  him  he  next  goes 
in  search  of  Cortesia  and  she  likewise  gives  him 
good  advice:  to  refrain  from  tattling,  not  to 
use  injurious  language,  not  to  lie  or  say  any 
villainy  of  others,  not  to  speak  even  under  pro- 
vocation a  vulgar  word;  then  from  negative 
she  comes  to  positive  commands  and  shows  him 
how  he  may  walk  through  the  city  with  those 
of  lower  or  of  higher  rank:  "  If  your  companion 
is  of  lower  rank,"  she  says,  "you  may  walk  a 
step  in  advance,  and  if  you  ride  on  horseback 
see  that  you  go  very  courteously,  ride  gracefully 
cavalca  lellamente  with  the  head  a  little  bent, 
since  to  ride  with  loose  rein  seems  great  bar- 
barism, and  do  not  hold  the  head  so  high  as 
to  look  at  all  the  house-tops!" 

Then  still  in  company  with  his  cavalier 
giocoso  e  molto  confortoso,  who  shows  in  his  face 
the  delight  he  had  felt  in  hearing  Courtesy's 
words,  Brunetto  Latini  passes  on  to  Leanza, 
Loyalty,  who  begins  her  discourse  by  a  warning 


32  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

against  lying,  for  the  lie  returns  in  shame  and 
has  brief  run.  She  preaches  devotion  to  the 
Commune  and  love  and  faith  in  the  Holy  Church 
and  honour  to  Christ  and  the  saints. 

Prodezza,  Bravery,  or  Prowess,  has  similar 
good  advice  to  offer  and  she  cautions  against 
fear  of  death:  "No  screen  hast  thou  to  hide  a 
man  from  death  when  death  comes'*  is  the 
teaching.  "Then  be  fearless,  injure  no  living 
man,  even  if  thou  art  stronger,  all  the  more  be 
on  thy  guard;  use  gentle  speech  and  go  with 
sense,  but  if  sense  avail  not,  then  put  force 
against  force";  and  this  brings  her  to  speak 
of  private  and  public  quarrels  and  the  proper 
behaviour  of  a  gentleman: 

"If  perchance  the  commune  send  out  an 
army  of  cavalry  I  will  that  thou  go  in  their 
ranks  bearing  thyself  with  baron's  state  and 
showing  thyself  greater  than  thou  really  art; 
and  display  thy  valour  and  make  fine  show  of 
intrepidity  and  be  not  slow  or  late,  for  no 
coward  ever  wins  honour  or  becomes  great." 

Having  thus  heard  all  that  the  four  great 
mistresses  of  morals  have  to  say,  Brunette  with 
his  mysterious  companion,  the  cavalier,  who  in 
Dante  of  course  is  Vergil,  takes  the  road  to  the 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  33 

right,  and,  passing  by  vales  and  mountains, 
groves,  forests  and  seas,  they  reach  a  beautiful 
meadow  such  as  is  in  Dante  described  as  the 
home  of  the  philosophic  family.  It  is  full  of 
flowers,  the  richest  in  the  world.  It  is  a  mys- 
terious place,  for  he  says:  "Now  it  seemed 
round,  now  square,  now  dark,  now  bright  and 
shining.  Now  I  see  many  people,  now  I  see  no 
one;  now  I  see  a  pavilion,  now  I  see  houses 
and  towers.  One  lies  prone,  another  races;  one 
flies,  another  chases;  one  stands,  another  strives; 
one  enjoys,  another  goes  mad;  one  weeping, 
the  other  consoling.'* 

Here  he  finds  a  confessional  and  is  absolved 
from  all  sin  and  given  courage  to  proceed,  and 
a  little  farther  he  finds  four  children  whom  in 
courtesy  he  begs  to  show  him  the  way  and  tell 
him  of  the  place  and  the  people,  and  the  wisest 
of  them  tells  him  briefly: 

Thou  must  know,  Mastro  Brunette, 

That  here  is  monsignore, 

The  Head  and  God  of  Love. 

If  thou  believest  me, 

Pass  on  and  thou  shalt  see 

Whereof  I  dare  not  speak. 

They  vanish  in  an  instant,  he  knows  not  how 
nor  whither,  nor  does  he  know  their  signs  or 


34  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

their  names.  But  going  farther  he  sees  many 
people,  some  joyous  and  some  sad,  and  before 
the  signore  appears  another  throng  making  a 
great  noise,  and  then  he  sees  a  fresh  young 
child  standing  erect  and  naked,  with  bow  and 
arrows,  and  he  has  wings  and  feathers,  but  he 
is  blind  and  he  often  shoots  off  his  arrows  at 
haphazard. 

This  infant's  name  is  Piacere,  or  sensual 
love,  and  near  him  are  four  donne  valenti,  who 
hold  the  mastery  over  men,  and  he  sees  the 
measure  and  reason  of  their  mastery,  and  their 
names  he  hears: 

Paura  e  Disianza 

E   Amore   e   Speranza: — 

Fear  and  Longing  and  Love  and  Hope,  each 
exercising  her  arts  and  power  and  knowledge 
to  her  utmost,  thus  Desire  swaying  the  mind 
and  compelling  it  to  get  possession  of  the  object 
desired  without  thought  of  honour  or  reputation 
or  death. 

These  four  passions  so  affect  a  man  that 
when  he  falls  in  love  he  yearns  and  fears  and 
hopes  and  loves  and  the  keen  arrows  from 
Pleasure's  bow  pierce  him  and  make  him  desire 
corporeal  delight,  so  much  is  love  a  matter  of 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  35 

the  heart.  And  these  four  though  acting  in 
different  fields,  and  even  in  opposition  (Fear 
against  Hope),  yet  work  in  common  for  one  end. 
Brunetto  confesses  that  he  himself  in  spite 
of  his  efforts  to  shield  himself  from  the  infant's 
darts  yet  fell  into  the  power  of  Love.  But 
suddenly  turning  round  he  sees  in  a  rich  mantle 
Ovid,  the  great  master  who  had  told  of  the  acts 
of  Love  and  put  them  into  verse,  and  at  his 
request  Ovid  tells  him  frankly: 

E   lo    bene    e   lo    male 
Del  Fante  delle   ale  — 

both  the  good  and  the  evil  qualities  of  the  winged 
infant.  Ovid  replies  to  his  questions,  not  in 
Latin,  but  in  volgare,  that  is  in  Italian,  showing 
that  this  popular  language  was  already  be- 
ginning to  appeal  even  to  learned  men:  he  says 
that  no  one  who  had  failed  to  experience  the 
power  of  Love  knows  anything  about  it  and 
bids  him  search  into  his  own  heart  for  the  good 
and  the  delight  and  the  evil  and  error  which 
is  born  of  Love: 

Cercati  fra  lo  petto 
Del  bene  e  del  diletto, 
Del  male  e  Jell'  error  e 
Che  nasce  per  amort. 


36  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

And  when  he  would  fain  have  fled  he  finds 
himself,  as  it  were,  rooted  to  the  spot,  but 
Ovid,  by  his  art,  gives  him  the  mastery,  so  that 
he  finds  his  way  again.  But  such  had  been 
his  fear  and  weariness  and  pain  that  he  is 
resolved  to  turn  to  God  and  his  saints,  and 
humbly  confess  his  sins  to  the  priests  and  friars 
and  to  submit  to  them  his  libretto,  begging 
them  to  correct  it  and  collate  this  as  well  as  all  his 
writings  with  the  teachings  of  the  Christian  faith. 

Here  really  ends  the  "Tesoretto,"  and  the 
twentieth  chapter  begins  the  "Penitenza," 
which,  in  two  quite  long  cantos,  leads  in  turn 
to  the  "Favoletto,"  dedicated  to  his  friend 
Rustico  di  Felippo. 

Finding  that  Fortune  turns  her  wheel  in  the 
wrong  direction,  that  all  earthly  things  are 
sinful  and  painful  and  that  man  is  vanity,  that 
even  Julius  Caesar,  the  first  Emperor,  and 
Samson,  the  strongest  man,  were  soon  laid  low 
in  their  graves,  and  Alexander,  the  conqueror 
of  the  world,  Absalom  the  beautiful,  Hector 
the  generous,  Solomon  the  wise,  Octavian  the 
rich  —  not  one  lived  a  day  beyond  their  ap- 
pointed time,  while  flowers,  leaves  and  fruits, 
birds,  beasts  and  fishes  are  alike  subject  to 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  37 

death:  therefore  he  reasons  that  Solomon  is 
right  in  saying  that  all  things  are  vanitate  vana. 

"Friend,"  he  says,  "engage  in  war,  and 
travel  through  all  the  earth,  and  go  ploughing  the 
sea  before  the  wind;  wear  costly  things  and  eat 
rich  food;  gain  silver  and  gold;  amass  great 
treasure !  What  does  it  all  amount  to  ?  —  wrath, 
fatigue  and  shame!" 

Seeing,  therefore,  that  he  is  a  guilty  man,  a 
sinner,  and  on  the  road  to  perdition,  he  deter- 
mines to  desist  in  time.  So  he  enters  the  con- 
fessional at  Monposlieri,  by  which  he  means 
Montpensier,  and  tells  the  friars  all  his  sins: 
"Ah  lasso!  how  corrupt  I  was!  What  evil 
deeds  worse  than  crimes  I  had  committed! 
What  sins  worse  than  death!" 

And  he  especially  confesses  to  the  charge  of 
having  been  rather  dissolute  or  worldly: 

Che    sat    che    siam    tenutt 
Un  poco  mondanettt. 

He  had  wrecked  himself  on  the  rocks  of  pride. 
Had  he  loved  his  Creator  with  all  his  heart,  or 
been  obedient  to  His  commands;  had  he  boasted 
of  what  he  had  done  of  good  or  folly;  had  he 
been  hypocritical;  had  he  been  proud  and 
haughty  by  reason  of  riches  and  good  breeding, 


38  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

grand  relatives,  praise  for  his  actions  ?  Through 
pride,  the  head  and  root  of  evil  and  sin,  had  he 
claimed  to  have  what  he  had  not  ?  He  antici- 
pates Shakespeare  in  his  per  orgogliamento  — 
fallio  I' angel  matto  —  "  Through  pride  fell  the 
mad  angel,  and  Eve  broke  the  compact,  and  the 
death  of  Abel  and  the  tower  of  Babel,  and  the 
Trojan  war/* 

These  sins  are  perhaps  by  implication,  for  he 
puts  them  apparently  into  the  friar's  mouth,  and 
follows  them  up  with  a  long  homily  against  envy 
and  irreverence  and  presumption  and  other 
mortal  sins.  After  inveighing,  for  instance, 
against  the  sin  of  passing  a  false  florin,  which 
probably  Brunette  Latini  was  never  even 
tempted  to  do,  the  friar  proceeds: 

"The  man  who  is  too  avaricious  [jY<zrjo] 
—  I  believe  has  his  heart  burnt  within  him, 
and  he  who  has  no  pity  on  the  poor  or  those 
in  prison  falls  wholly  into  hell.  Through 
avarice  only  arises  gluttony,  whereby  come 
weariness  and  sickness  and  inebriation,  the 
source  of  scorn.  And  from  ghiottornia  the 
road  leads  straight  to  sensuality  —  lussuria  — 
and  how  shameful  this  sin  is  in  an  old  man 
— a  double  sin  \doppio  peccato]!  " 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  39 

Thence  he  goes  on  to  speak  of  those  special 
forms  of  lussuria  which  Dante  punishes  in 
the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  cantos  of  the 
Inferno.  Dante  takes  him  at  his  word  and 
adjudges  him  guilty  of  the  terrible  indictment: 

Ma  tra  questi  peccati 
Son    vie    ptii     condannati 
Que'  che  son  soddomiti. 
Deh    come   son    perttt 
Que'  cbe  contra  natura 
Brigen  cotal  lussura. 

"Now,"  says  the  friar,  "behold,  my  dear 
friend,  and  heed  what  I  say.  See  how  many 
sins  I  have  told  you  of,  and  all  are  mortal,  and 
thou  knowest  that  thou  art  guilty  of  such  —  very 
few  of  which  are  cured.  See,  it  is  no  joking 
matter  [non  e  gioco\  to  fall  into  sin,  and  I 
advise  thee  in  all  friendliness  to  beware  lest 
the  world  entice  thee!" 

Brunetto  having  received  absolution  —  and 
this  surely  ought  to  have  given  him  a  chance 
at  the  purification  of  Purgatory  —  he  returns 
to  the  forest  on  a  festal  day,  and  on  the  morning 
after  he  finds  himself  on  the  monte  d'  Olempo, 
on  its  very  summit,  from  which  he  sees  the 
whole  world  and  how  it  is  round,  and  all  the 
land  and  the  sea  and  the  air  and  the  fire  above 


40  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  air;  that  is  to  say,  the  four  elements  which 
are  the  sustenance  of  all  creatures  according  to 
their  natures;  and  turning  he  beholds  a  white 
mantle  near  a  great  broom  tree,  and  when  he 
looks  more  closely  he  beholds  a  being  with  a 
white  visage  with  a  long  beard  spreading  over 
the  breast,  and  when  he  approaches  it  proves  to 
be  Ptolemy,  the 

Mastro   di   storlomia 
E  di  filosofia. 

Ptolemy,  who  corresponds  to  Statius  in  Dante, 
receives  him  politely  and  gives  him  a  full  ex- 
planation of  the  cause  and  reason  and  nature 
of  the  four  elements  and  of  their  foundations. 
It  is  supposed  that  these  teachings  of  Ptolemy 
were  to  have  been  given  in  Italian  prose, 
but  the  prose  is  missing  and  the  poem  ends 
abruptly. 

The  two  chapters  of  the  "Favoletto"  have  no 
connection  whatever  with  the  "Tesoretto," 
though  written  in  the  same  doggerel  rhyme  and 
meter.  We  may  therefore  dismiss  it  with  a  word. 
Nor  do  the  other  writings  of  Brunette  especially 
interest  us,  not  even  his  "Fiore  di  Filosofi  e  di 
Mold  Savi,"  which  consists  of  short  articles, 
all  beginning  with  pretty  much  the  same  phrase: 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE  41 

Pittagora  fue  uno  filosofo,  Socrate  fue  grandissi- 
mo  filosofo,  and  the  like. 

Brunette  Latini's  ingenuity  in  keeping  up  his 
jerky  doggerel  for  three  thousand  lines  or  more 
is  something  wonderful.  Of  course,  it  often  leads 
him  into  discursiveness,  but  oftentimes  it  gives 
a  certain  epigrammatic  spiciness.  It  soon 
grows  monotonous,  and  the  occasional  poetic 
imagery  does  not  show  for  what  it  is  worth. 
As  a  study  of  language,  the  "Tresors"  and  the 
"Tesoretto"  are  each  interesting  in  their  own 
way,  but,  aside  from  the  linguistic  value  which 
the  Italian  has,  often  showing,  as  it  does,  the 
less  sophisticated  meaning  of  words  that  after- 
ward became  subtle,  the  student  is  probably 
right  in  giving  more  attention  to  "Li  Tresors." 

But  it  seems  palpable  that  the  man  himself 
appears  in  the  poem  and  we  can  construct  with 
some  satisfaction  an  outline  of  his  character. 
He  was  scholarly,  but  he  was  genial.  He  was 
loyal  to  Florence  and  a  patriot,  but  he  was  free 
from  that  acid  bitterness  that  seared  Dante's 
very  soul.  He  was  more  ingenious  than  poet- 
ical. No  real  poet  could  possibly  have  stuck 
so  determinedly  to  a  scheme  of  rhyme  that 
was  destined  from  its  very  nature  to  be  largely 


42  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

doggerel.  Even  the  epigrammatic  couplets  have 
nothing  of  the  popular  proverb  about  them. 
There  are  few  that  cling  to  the  memory  and 
serve  as  apt  quotations.  It  is  not  exaggeration 
to  say  that  Dante  quite  obscured  his  feeble 
light  as  the  sun  obscures  the  light  of  Mercury. 
But  by  reason  of  Dante's  indebtedness  to  him, 
as  well  as  from  a  certain  quaint  originality  in 
the  man  himself,  he  is  worth  studying. 

At  the  end  we  cannot  help  wondering  how 
Dante  had  the  heart  to  condemn  to  those  regions 
of  pitiless  fire  the  man  who,  whether  he  was 
his  teacher  or  not,  left  a  statement  of  philosophy 
and  morals  that  in  view  of  its  wide  dissemination 
throughout  the  Middle  Ages  must  have  had  a 
vast  influence  for  good. 


II 

DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE 

"T\ANTE,  under  the  similitude  of  a  mountain, 
•"•^  may  be  approached  from  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent sides.  He  stands,  as  it  were,  on  the 
summit  of  an  age,  the  one  predominant  among 
a  score  of  prominent  figures.  He  serves  to 
divide  the  dark  from  the  light.  Behind  him 
are  the  centuries  of  intellectual  night;  before 
him  lie  the  aeons  of  dawn.  He  was  of  course 
conditioned  by  the  thought,  the  atmosphere, 
the  environment  in  which  he  was  placed;  but 
he  was  also  the  prophet  of  the  new,  of  the 
advanced,  of  the  future.  With  what  passionate 
eloquence  he  held  up  before  men's  eyes  the  lofty 
ideal  of  patriotism,  of  freedom  under  law,  of 
religion,  of  stainless  character. 

It  is  a  wonderful  thing  about  this  great  man 
that  men  in  all  times  have  found  in  him  some- 
thing that  appealed  to  their  inmost  needs.  In 
countless  thousands  his  writings  have  awakened 
a  new  sense  of  mental  power,  have  stimulated 
new  trains  of  thought  and  have  opened  up  new 
fields  of  action.  Students  of  one  class  have 
43 


44  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

discovered  in  him  a  key  to  history;  those  of 
another  have  learned  by  their  study  of  his  per- 
fect art  to  appreciate  all  that  is  best  in  poesy; 
those  of  still  another  have  thrilled  with  mystical 
exaltation  at  the  allegorical  and  symbolical 
significance  which  they  have  read  into  his 
simplest  lines.  To  others  Nature  has  through 
his  interpretation  assumed  a  mightier  meaning; 
to  still  others  Religion  has  in  his  alembic  dis- 
tilled a  subtler  and  more  penetrating  elixir  of 
life. 

Even  those  who  approach  Dante  with  the 
practical  skepticism  of  these  modern  days  fall 
under  his  spell.  They  may  not  be  willing  to 
confess  or  they  may  not  be  quite  conscious  of 
the  secret  of  the  charm,  but  it  sways  them. 

Here  and  there  a  solitary  voice  of  dissent  is 
lifted,  as  where  Matthew  Browne  is  quoted  with 
approbation  as  saying  that  Dante  "was  the 
embodiment  of  the  jealousy,  party-spirit  and 
stunted  inhuman  scholasticism  of  the  Middle 
Ages  .  .  .  his  imagination  was  harsh  and 
personal  with  no  light  relieving  touch  of  phan- 
tasy any  more  than  his  genius  was  genial  and 
attractive."  But  even  while  one  may  see  the 
force  of  this  statement,  one  is  again  and  again 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   45 

drawn  back  to  the  melodious  text  and  the  spell 
begins  to  work  anew. 

A  recent  writer,  after  giving  various  specimens 
of  the  horrors  which  Dante  so  vividly  portrayed 
in  the  Inferno  —  souls  swept  by  never-ceasing 
hellish  winds,  pelted  by  snow,  hail  and  putrid 
water,  lapped  by  devouring  flames,  grilling  in 
vile  boiling  pitch,  entombed  in  everlasting  ice, 
declared  that  "if  this  be  poetry,  then  Caligula 
and  Alva  may  be  classed  among  the  'mute 
inglorious  Miltons'  and  poetic  inspiration  may 
be  found  in  slaughtering  an  ox,  performing  a 
surgical  operation  or  executing  a  criminal  in 
the  most  barbarous  manner  ever  known  to  the 
penal  code  of  England." 

Another  critic  makes  this  sweeping  remark: 

"Subtract  from  the  ' Inferno'  its  revolting 
pictures,  some  of  which  the  art  of  Dore  has  so 
vividly  realised  to  our  actual  vision,  and  it  will 
be  seen  that  little  or  nothing  of  interest  remains 
—  little  at  all  events  that  would  be  recognised 
under  the  name  of  poetry,  however  it  might 
have  passed  in  former  times  for  theology  or 
philosophy." 

Dante's  cruelty  was  the  inheritance  of  the 
ages:  the  Old  Testament  in  its  most  rapturous 


46  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

flights  of  poetic  eloquence  depicted  the  Al- 
mighty as  rejoicing  in  the  torment  or  destruction 
of  His  enemies,  as  holding  them  in  derision. 
The  cruel  animal  out  of  which  grew  generous, 
gentle,  civilised  man,  left  as  its  inheritance  the 
tendency  to  take  delight  in  the  agonies  and 
torments  of  his  fellows.  It  was  not  strange 
that  even  in  religion  this  relic  should  crop  out 
now  in  the  passionate  eloquence  of  the  Church 
Fathers,  now  in  the  poems  of  a  Dante  or  a  New 
England  Wigglesworth,  now  in  the  excesses  of 
the  Inquisition  or  the  bigotries  of  the  Puritans. 

Dante  had  many  predecessors  who  equalled 
or  even  excelled  him  in  depicting  the  horrors 
of  the  Damned.  Tertullian  whose  life  ended 
just  fourteen  centuries  before  Shakespeare's 
( 170-216  A.  D. )  wrote  thus  in  his  book 
"De  Speculis":  "At  that  greatest  of  all  spec- 
tacles, the  Last  Judgment  and  final,  how  shall 
I  admire,  how  laugh,  howrejoice,how  exult  when 
I  behold  so  many  proud  monarchs  groaning  in  the 
lowest  abyss  of  darkness,  so  many  magistrates 
liquefying  in  fiercer  flames  than  they  ever  kindled 
against  the  Christians,  so  many  wise  philosophers 
blushing  in  red  hot  flames  with  their  deluded 
pupils,  so  many  tragic  singers  more  tuneful  in 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   47 

the  expression  of  their  own  suffering,  so  many 
dancers  tripping  more  nimbly  from  anguish 
than  ever  before  from  applause." 

Minucius  Felix  who  lived  about  a  hundred 
years  later  thus  described  the  nature  of  penal 
fire: 

"  In  hell,  the  intelligent  fire  burns  the  limbs 
and  restores  them,  feeds  on  them  and  nourishes 
them." 

Lactantius  about  312  A.  D.  also  described 
the  divine  fire: 

"  It  always  lives  on  itself  and  flourishes  with- 
out any  nourishment  nor  has  it  any  smoke 
mixed  with  it  but  is  pure  and  liquid  and  fluid 
like  water  —  the  same  fire  with  one  and  the 
same  energy  will  both  burn  the  wicked  and  form 
them  again  and  will  replace  as  much  as  it  will 
consume  of  their  bodies  and  will  supply  itself 
with  eternal  nourishment." 

Even  he  of  the  golden  voice,  St.  Chrysostom, 
whose  sixty  years  of  life  ended  in  407  A.  D., 
speaking  of  the  inextinguishable  fire,  says: 
"  How  horrible  it  is,  no  words  can  tell."  He 
compares  it  to  a  furiously  boiling  bath  or  a 
most  consuming  fever.  "Truly,"  he  goes  on, 
"we  shall  grate  our  teeth  under  the  agony  of 


48  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  intolerable  torment  and  none  shall  bring 
succour  and  we  shall  groan  heavily  while  the 
flame  presses  us  ever  more  fiercely." 

It  does  not  seem  to  mitigate  the  horror  of  it 
that  the  good  saint  included  himself  in  the 
general  condemnation.  Peter  Lombard,  whose 
life  covered  the  first  sixty  years  of  the  twelfth 
century,  was  not  so  generous  and  was  more 
bloodthirsty:  "The  elect  will  behold  the  tor- 
ture of  the  impious  and  as  they  look  they  will 
not  grieve.  Their  minds  will  be  sated  with 
joy  as  they  gaze  on  the  unspeakable  anguish  of 
the  wicked  and  they  will  sing  hallelujahs  for 
their  own  immunity.*' 

Just  about  a  hundred  years  later  Suso,  a 
pupil  of  Eckhardt's,  tried  to  give  some  slight 
notion  of  the  length  of  the  eternity  "of  the 
sobbing,  sighing,  weeping,  howling,  lamenting, " 
by  comparing  it  to  a  millstone  as  broad  as  the 
whole  earth  and  so  large  as  to  touch  the  sky  all 
around  and  pecked  at  by  a  little  bird  that  should 
come  once  in  a  hundred  thousand  years,  reducing 
it  by  a  particle  as  large  as  the  tenth  part  of  a 
grain  of  millet,  so  that  in  a  million  years  a  par- 
ticle as  large  as  a  grain  of  millet  should  be  taken 
from  it.  If  by  the  time  the  stone  were  reduced 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   49 

to  nothing  there  were  hope  for  the  Damned  it 
would  console  them. 

Saint  Bonaventura,  author  of  the  "Biblia 
Pauperum,"the  Doctor  seraphicus  whose  mysti- 
cism so  enthralled  Luther,  had  the  same  material 
notion  of  the  infernal  punishments  by  means  of 
fire  and  ice  and  worms  and  stenches  and  all 
things  horrible.  But  none  of  the  Church  Fathers 
exceed  St.  Bernard,  the  opponent  of  Abelard. 
He  says: 

"Oh  Gehenna  —  a  region  to  be  shunned, 
where  are  burning  fire,  stiffening  frost,  horrible 
faces  of  demons.  .  .  .  Behold  this  most  hor- 
rible chaos,  the  subterranean  lake,  the  deepest 
of  pits  and  all  of  fire.  Likewise  imagine  a 
mighty  city,  horrible  and  dark  within,  burning 
with  most  obscure  and  terrible  flames,  with  weep- 
ing and  wailing  and  moaning  everywhere  from  in- 
explicable woes  and  everything  of  the  sort  that 
can  be  conceived  by  the  mind  of  man.  Think 
of  the  bitterness  of  the  punishment,  for  the  heat 
of  this  fire  is  to  ours  as  our  fire  is  to  a  painted 
flame.  And  also  think  of  the  cold  and  the  foul 
odours.  The  bitterness  of  this  punishment  is 
patent  from  the  gnashing  of  teeth,  from  the 
groaning  and  the  wailing  and  the  blaspheming. 


50  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

And  so  of  other  things.  Consider  the  multi- 
tude of  punishments;  for  there  one  will  find 
inextinguishable  most  subtle  fire,  intolerable 
cold,  horrible  stench,  palpable  darkness.  There 
will  be  punishment  for  all  the  senses:  to  the 
sight  in  horrible  faces  and  aspects  of  demons;  to 
the  hearing,  in  lamentable  groans  and  clamours 
arising  from  that  wretched  company  and  the 
cruelty  of  the  torturers  who,  pitiless,  never 
weary  of  torturing  or  are  moved  to  pity.  Con- 
sider also  that  in  those  members  whereby  they 
sinned  will  souls  be  tormented.  Likewise  the 
internal  passions  will  reign  in  them :  for  espe- 
cially will  there  be  wraths  and  envyings  and 
they  will  be  like  rabid  dogs  and  they  will  yearn 
to  die  and  find  it  impossible.'* 

Thus  Dante  showed  no  originality  in  his 
conception  of  the  torments  of  the  damned. 
But  his  pictures  have  a  gruesome  picturesque- 
ness  which  seems  to  bring  them  vividly  before 
the  mind  especially  when  we  recognise  in  these 
writhing  tormented  wretches  the  faces  of  states- 
men and  popes.  Many  poets  before  Dante 
had  taken  an  imaginary  pilgrimage  through  the 
regions  of  the  dead.  Not  to  speak  of  the  two 
great  pagan  classic  prototypes,  it  may  be  that 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   51 

he  was  familiar  with  the  "Visio  Tungdali" 
which  depicted  an  Irish  Inferno  where  a  viler 
Lucifer  than  Tartarus  boasted  tormented  lost 
souls.  Then  there  were  the  famous  visions  of  St. 
Patrick  and  the  vision  of  Frate  Alberico  and 
undoubtedly  there  were  still  others,  for  what  is 
more  natural  than  that  men  should  use  all  the 
powers  of  their  imaginations  to  realise  to  them- 
selves what  the  Unseen  may  disclose  ? 

Artists  also  have  done  their  part  both  in  sug- 
gestion and  illustration,  and  we  find  the  best 
commentary  on  Dante  in  the  pictures  that  were 
painted  about  his  own  time  to  illumine  the  great 
Drama  of  Sin  and  Redemption  —  to  Dante's 
friend  Giotto  di  Bordone  who  painted  the  Apoc- 
alyptic Vision  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Chiara 
in  Naples  and  the  Last  Judgment  at  Padua,or 
to  Andrea  Orcagna  who  transferred  to  the  walls 
of  chapels  in  Pisa  and  Florence  scenes  from  the 
"  Inferno."  The  quaint  and  crude  designs  that 
illustrate  the  famous  edition  of  1491  are  in  a 
certain  sense  more  satisfactory  than  the  more 
artistic  conceptions  of  Michelangelo  who  has 
been  called  "the  great  art  commentator  of 
Dante "  [whose  soul  lives  again  in  his  immortal 
works.  His  Last  Judgment  may  indeed  have 


52  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

been  inspired  by  the  "Divine  Comedy"  but 
Michelangelo  and  Rafael  and  Tintoretto,  as  well 
as  Flaxman  and  Doreand  dozens  of  other  artists, 
great  though  they  be,  are  too  modern  in  spirit 
perfectly  to  bring  out  the  mediaeval  spirit  of 
Dante's  work.  We  must  go  to  the  Prerafaelites 
if  we  would  see  with  Dante's  eyes.  Possibly 
we  should  find  anything  but  aesthetic,  figurative, 
symbolical  beauty  in  a  painting  of  Beatrice 
painted  by  Cimabue  or  Taddeo  Bartolo  or 
Taddeo  Gaddi.  Ideals  of  female  beauty  change 
from  age  to  age. 

When  it  is  realised  that  between  three  and 
four  thousand  books  and  innumerable  articles 
in  periodicals  have  been  written  about  Dante, 
the  comparison  to  a  mountain  approached  from 
many  different  sides  becomes  plain  prose. 
Keen  indeed  has  been  the  interest  which  the 
world  has  felt  for  more  than  six  hundred  years 
in  the  life  and  works  of  that  stern  uncompromis- 
ing patriot-poet.  His  biography  has  been  writ- 
ten with  great  confidence  and  in  wonderful 
detail,  but,  as  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare,  legend 
seems  inextricably  mixed  with  truth  and  the 
mere  external  facts  are  few. 

Yet  his  personality  stands  out  before  us  with 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE  53 

extraordinary  distinctness.  We  know  exactly 
what  was  his  mystical  conception  of  Beatrice, 
what  he  intended  to  be  read  into  the  four-fold 
allegory  of  the  "Divine  Comedy,"  how  far  he 
was  a  disciple  of  Plato  or  of  Aristotle;  to  what  an 
extent  he  was  influenced  by  the  Arabian  glosses 
of  Ibn  Roshd  known  to  him  as  Averroes.  In 
many  of  the  landscapes  of  the  "Purgatory"  we 
detect  the  reminiscences  of  his  travels;  here  and 
there  are  easily  recognised  bits  of  autobiographi- 
cal information.  The  whole  poem  so  vividly 
reflects  his  character  that  probably  no  mediaeval 
personage  is  more  real  to  us  than  Dante.  The 
learning  of  the  ages,  the  acuteness  of  the  bright- 
est scholars  of  Europe  and  America  have  been 
lavished  in  discussing  every  phrase  of  his  prose 
and  verse.  The  tides  of  opinion  go  sweeping 
over  disputed  passages  as  the  sea  sweeps  over 
sunken  boulders.  One  learned  commentator 
spends  years  in  puzzling  over  the  question  why 
the  Latin  poet  Statius  is  so  many  times  men- 
tioned in  the  "  Purgatory"  and  at  last  comes 
laboriously  to  the  sensible  conclusion  that  it 
was  simply  because  the  poet  chose  to  mention 
him  so  many  times. 

Dante  and  Vergil  generally  occupy  the  fore- 


54  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ground  in  all  the  scenes  that  are  panoramically 
unfolded  in  the  first  half  of  the  great  poem. 
So  true  is  this  that  in  many  of  the  fifteenth 
century  wood  cuts  illustrating  the  journey  they 
are  introduced  no  less  than  three  times  labelled 
with  the  initials  V.  and  D.  like  haloes  over  their 
heads.  More  than  one  modern  artist  also  has 
used  his  highest  powers  in  depicting  the  two 
poets  in  their  memorable  journey  —  Vergil,  from 
some  antique  bust  or  from  imagination,  but 
Dante  from  contemporary  portraiture  either  in 
words  as  in  Boccaccio's  description  or  in  paint- 
ings more  or  less  dubious. 

Boccaccio,  who  knew  Dante  personally,  thus 
describes  him: 

"This  poet  of  ours  was  of  medium  stature, 
and  when  he  reached  the  age  of  maturity,  walked 
a  little  bent,  and  his  gait  was  dignified  and 
gentle.  He  was  always  clad  in  very  respectable 
clothes,  in  a  habit  suitable  to  his  time  of  life. 
His  face  was  long  and  his  nose  aquiline  and  his 
eyes  rather  large  [gro.r.r/]  than  small;  his  jaws 
large  [grandt]  and  the  upper  lip  projected  over 
the  lower;  and  his  complexion  was  dark;  his 
hair  and  beard  thick,  black  and  curling,  and 
he  always  looked  melancholy  and  thoughtful." 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE  55 

Dante,  in  his  first  Latin  Eclogue  written 
toward  the  end  of  his  life,  conveys  the  impression 
that  his  hair  was  light;  some  scholars  understand 
the  words  solitum  flavescere  to  mean  that  his 
hair  was  yellow. 

Leonardi  Bruni  who  was  born  in  1370  — 
consequently  nearly  half  a  century  after  Dante's 
death  —  and  wrote  a  life  of  him  in  the  ver- 
nacular, after  speaking  of  his  mediocre  patri- 
mony says: 

"He  was  a  very  polished  man,  of  decent 
stature  and  of  pleasant  appearance  and  full  of 
gravity;  slow  and  sparing  in  speech  but  very 
clever  in  his  repartees.  His  own  portrait  is  to 
be  seen  in  the  Chiesa  di  Santa  Croce  about  the 
middle  of  the  Church,  on  the  left  hand  as  you 
go  toward  the  High  Altar,  admirably  painted 
from  life  by  a  perfect  painter  of  his  day." 

It  is  one  of  the  disputed  questions  whether 
Boccaccio  did  not  take  some  contemporary 
portrait  as  the  basis  of  his  description.  Scar- 
tazzini,  in  his  "Introduction  to  the  Study  of 
Dante, "  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that  a  review 
of  the  abundant  literature  on  Dante's  portrait 
convinces  him  that  probably  we  have  not  a 
single  authentic  picture  of  the  great  poet.  "Who 


56  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

would  have  painted  it?"  he  asks.  "Even 
granting  that  while  he  was  one  of  the  Priors  of 
Florence,  one  had  been  hung  in  some  public 
place,  such  a  portrait,  though  according  to 
Bruni,  found  in  the  Chiesa  di  Santa  Croce, 
would  undoubtedly  have  been  destroyed  at  the 
time  when  Florence  condemned,  banished, 
cursed  and  would  gladly  have  put  to  death  her 
great  son.  It  requires  great  credulity  to  believe 
that  in  such  times  the  Florentines  would  have 
endured  in  a  public  place  the  portrait  of  a  ban- 
ished, cursed,  detested  citizen.  The  multitude 
of  portraits  of  Dante  that  we  possess  are  nothing 
else  but  fancy  pictures,  most  likely  inspired  by 
Boccaccio's  description." 

We  may  also  ask  how  much  dependence  may 
be  placed  on  the  authenticity  of  the  death-mask 
which  some  claim  gives  an  absolutely  correct 
notion  of  his  features.  The  sympathetic  trans- 
lator of  the  "  Inferno,"  the  late  T.  W.  Parsons, 
exclaims: 

How  stern  of  lineament,  how  grim, 
The  father  was  of  Tuscan  song ! 

calls  him  "an  anchorite"  and  continues  the  pic- 
ture in  these  words: 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   57 

The  lips  as  Cumae's  caverns  close, 

The  cheeks  with  fast  and  sorrow  thin, 

The  rigid  front,  almost  morose, 

But  for  the  patient  hope  within.     .     .     . 

Peace  dwells  not  here  —  this  rugged  face 
Betrays  no  spirit  of  repose; 
The  sullen  warrior  sole  we  trace, 
The  marble  man  of  many  woes. 

This  stern  prophet,  before  whom  women  shrank 
and  children  trembled  as  if  he  had  been  himself 
a  sad-eyed  ghost  returned  from  the  tomb,  is 
portrayed  by  some  of  his  biographers  as  stand- 
ing on  the  shore  of  the  Gulf  of  Spezzia  near  the 
monastery  of  Santa  Croce  del  Corno,  gazing  out 
at  the  wondrous  prospect.  The  monks  struck 
by  his  pensive  melancholy  and  evident  burden 
of  sorrows  approached  and  asked  him  what  he 
desired.  He  replied  "Peace":  — 

The  single  boon  for  which  he  prayed 
The  convent's  charity  .was  rest. 

If  they  had  asked  him  where  in  this  world  Peace 
was  to  be  found  he  might  have  replied  in  the 
words  of  the  "  Paradise" :  In  la  sua  voluntade  e 
nostra  pace  —  In  His  will  is  our  peace. 

The  stern  Dante  of  the  "Inferno"  enthralls  our 
imagination  but  still  it  is  pleasant  to  conceive 
of  him  as  a  flaxen-haired  lover  writing  sonnets 


58  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  canzoni  to  the  beautiful  ladies  of  Florence. 
In  this  fascinating  pursuit  he  certainly  showed 
precocity,  but  it  is  remarkable  how  little  we  really 
know  of  the  facts.  He  himself  tells  us  that  he 
was  born  in  Florence  but  what  else  is  there  that 
we  can  say  of  his  father's  family  except  names  ? 
The  weight  of  evidence  seems  to  hold  against 
nobility  of  origin.  Neither  his  father's  family 
nor  his  mother's  was  inscribed  among  the  noblli 
or  the  popolane  of  the  city.  It  is  also  significant 
that  Giovanni  Villani,  a  contemporary  chronicler, 
does  not  speak  of  him  as  noble.  Moreover, 
after  the  Florentines  had  passed  a  decree  that 
no  member  of  a  noble  family  should  take  part 
in  their  affairs,  Dante  was  elected  Prior  of  the 
city.  Apparently  of  so  little  importance  was 
the  Alighieri  family  that  when  the  Guelfs,  to 
which  party  it  belonged,  was  politically  allied, 
were  driven  from  Florence  by  the  Ghibellines 
in  1260,  Alighiero,  a  humble  bourgeois,  either 
stayed  behind  with  his  second  wife,  whose  name 
was  Bella,  or  left  her  there.  According  to  the 
best  authorities  the  son  that  conferred  not 
merely  nobility  but  immortality  on  the  name 
first  saw  the  light  in  1265.  The  details  furnished 
by  Boccaccio  and  other  biographers  in  regard  to 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    59 

his  family  and  education  are  wholly  imaginary. 
How  much  truth,  then,  is  there  in  Dante's  own 
account  of  his  first  meeting  with  Beatrice  ? 
How  far  may  we  go  in  believing  that  this  ideal- 
ised maiden  was  an  actual  earthly  love,  a  woman 
of  living  flesh  and  blood  ? 

That  she  stands  as  a  symbol  no  one  can  doubt. 
But  it  is  always  more  interesting  to  us  practical 
modern  readers  to  interpret  literally  rather  than 
etherialise  characters  into  abstractions.  We 
accept  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  as  an  actual  journey 
of  actual  people  such  as  we  meet  every  day,  and 
the  moment  we  take  the  heroes  and  heroines  of 
Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene"  as  personified  Virtues 
and  Vices  we  lose  all  interest  in  them.  Even  the 
Song  of  Solomon  is  shorn  of  half  its  beauty  when 
it  is  regarded  as  a  prophetic  illustration  of  the 
love  of  Christ  for  His  Church.  To  be  sure  the 
internal  development  of  Dante's  life  may  be 
seen  to  follow  metaphysical  and  allegorical 
lines.  The  mysticism  can  not  be  gainsaid: 
Dante  himself  bids  us  read  between  the  lines. 
Students  of  a  later  day  are  too  much  inclined, 
however,  to  interpret  them  in  accordance  with 
modern  transcendentalism,  and  of  course  there 
is  room  for  discussion  as  to  his  meaning,  but  in 


60  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

studying  Dante  one  must  never  forget  the 
difference  between  his  viewpoint  and  ours.  It 
is  something  like  playing  Bach  sonatas  on  a 
modern  concert-grand  piano:  we  realise  that 
while  it  may  have  been  absolute  music  to  the 
composer's  inner  sense  yet  he  never  heard  them 
except  as  they  were  rendered  on  a  tinkling 
clavichord  tickled  with  a  quill. 

Now  it  is  of  very  little  importance  whether 
or  no  we  give  credence  to  the  literal  interpreta- 
tion of  Dante's  "Vita  Nuova";  whether  or  no 
the  donna  gentilissima  whom  he  says  many 
called  Beatrice  was  Messer  Folco  Portinari's 
daughter,  who  in  1286  married  the  Cavaliere 
Simon  dei  Bardi.  There  is  known  to  have  been 
such  a  Beatrice  and  she  lived  only  a  few  steps 
from  Dante's  home.  But  the  arguments  against 
this  tradition  —  for  it  is  only  tradition  —  are 
thoroughly  convincing  —  to  those  who  are  not 
convinced  of  the  contrary! 

But  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  regard 
"La  Vita  Nuova"  as  simply  and  solely  alle- 
gorical. Dante  says  his  most  gentle  lady  was 
a  year  younger  than  himself,  that  she  was  born, 
lived  and  died  in  the  Via  del  Corso,  that  at  her 
father's  death  she  was  bowed  with  grief,  that 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   61 

she  herself  died  in  the  first  hour  of  the  ninth  of 
June,  1290,  on  the  very  threshold  of  the  second 
period  of  her  life:  that  is  to  say,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four.  He  relates  that  the  image  of 
Beatrice  that  he  wore  imprinted  on  his  heart 
was  of  such  noble  virtue  that  it  never  suffered 
Love  to  hold  lordship  over  him  without  the 
faithful  counsel  of  Reason;  that  it  made  his 
heart  light  and  gay,  inflamed  him  with  holy 
charity,  impelled  him  to  love  his  neighbours  and 
forgive  his  enemies,  withdrew  his  imagination 
from  all  things  vile,  guided  him  in  the  straight 
path,  and  raised  him  to  the  love  of  the  highest 
good,  which  is  God. 

After  her  fair  limbs  are  laid  in  the  dust  he 
tells  of  their  meetings  and  of  the  influence  which 
his  love  for  her  had  exerted  upon  his  life  and 
character.  When  first  he  saw  her  he  was  near 
the  end  and  she  was  near  the  beginning  of  their 
ninth  year: 

"  She  appeared  to  me, "  he  says,  "clad  in  most 
noble  colour,  a  modest  and  becoming  red,  and 
she  was  girt  and  adorned  in  such  wise  as  suited 
her  very  youthful  time  of  life." 

The  thrill  that  passed  over  him  foretold  the 
coming  of  the  strong  God  destined  to  rule  over 


62          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

him,  and  this  strong  God  commanded  him  often- 
times when  he  was  a  boy  to  seek  to  see  that  most 
youthful  angel  — quest'  angiola  giovantsstma  — 
who  was  his  bliss,  and  he  says  that  he  saw  her  of 
such  noble  and  praiseworthy  deportment  that 
in  the  words  of  Homer  "she  seemed  not  the 
daughter  of  mortal  man  but  of  God."  And 
when  nine  years  had  passed  since  he  first  saw 
her,  "it  chanced  that  this  admirable  lady  ap- 
peared to  him  again  clad  in  whitest  white 
\colore  bianchissimo] —  between  two  older  ladies, 
and  as  she  passed  along  the  street  she  let  her 
eyes  fall  upon  him  as  he  stood  timidly  regarding 
her  and  saluted  him  with  such  ineffable  courtesy 
that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  then  experienced 
all  the  bounds  of  bliss  —  \tutti  i  termini  della 
beatudine}.  For  the  first  time  her  voice  sounded 
in  his  ears  and  so  intoxicated  was  he  by  the 
sweetness  of  it  that  he  retired  to  his  own  cham- 
ber and  dreamed  that  a  marvellous  vision  ap- 
peared to  him  —  a  cloud  of  fire  colour  wherein 
he  discerned  the  shape  of  his  Lord,  that  is  Love, 
who  in  his  arms  bore  the  Lady  of  the  Salutation, 
sleeping,  wrapt  in  a  diaphanous  robe  of  crimson 
cloth.  In  one  hand  he  held  the  youth's  heart 
all  on  fire  and  he  awoke  her  that  slept  and  pre- 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   63 

vailed  upon  her  to  eat  it  and  she  ate  it  timidly. 
Then  the  lord  of  fearful  aspect  changed  from 
joy  to  lament  and  as  he  wept  he  gathered  up  the 
lady  into  his  arms  and  went  away  with  her 
toward  heaven." 

From  that  moment,  as  expressed  in  the,  to  us, 
grotesque  image  of  his  lady  devouring  his  flam- 
ing heart,  love  wastes  his  flesh;  his  appearance 
becomes  grievous  to  his  friends,  nor  could  they 
doubt,  since  they  saw  so  many  signs  of  love  in 
his  face  that  it  was  love  that  was  wasting  him; 
but  when  they  asked  "for  whom"  he  smiled 
and  left  them,  as  he  left  us,  to  conjecture.  It 
certainly  seems  absurd  that  he  should  have  seen 
the  face  of  a  girl  who  lived  a  few  doors  from  him 
only  twice  in  eighteen  years  and  only  once  heard 
her  voice. 

But  Dante's  face,  wasted  by  his  youthful 
passion  for  this  idealised  love,  appeals  to  our 
imagination.  Would  that  we  had  it  painted 
by  Giotto! 

There  are  many  paintings  in  words  which 
present  Beatrice  and  her  friends  to  us  and  they 
must  all  be  interpreted  to  the  eye  in  the  style  of 
the  mediaeval  painters  —  a  style  that  one  per- 
haps grows  to  like.  The  environment  is  quite 


64  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

certain  to  be  ecclesiastical.  He  prefers  to  use  a 
circumlocution  for  church.  He  calls  it  the 
place  where  are  heard  words  concerning  the 
Queen  of  Glory  and  where  he  could  behold  his 
bliss.  This  circumlocution  is  characteristic  of 
Dante's  prose  style.  He  never  calls  Florence 
by  name  but  rather  speaks  of  it  as  the  city  where 
my  lady  was  stationed  by  the  all  High  Father 
—  la  cittade  ove  la  mia  donna  fu  posta  doff 
Altisslmo  Sire  —  or  as  the  city  where  his  gen- 
tilissima  donna  was  born,  lived  and  died. 

In  this  church,  between  Dante  and  Beatrice, 
sat  a  gentle  lady  of  very  pleasing  aspect  who 
often  looked  at  him,  wondering  that  he  should 
gaze  at  her;  and  many  persons  noticed  it  and 
supposed  that  the  unnamed  lady  was  the  one 
who  was  wasting  his  life.  So  he  allows  her  to  be 
the  screen  of  the  truth  and  for  months  and  years 
he  dissembles,  even  writing  rhymes  for  her,  so  as 
to  keep  his  secret  the  more  to  himself. 

Afterward  he  tells  her  how  the  Lord  of  the 
Angels  summoned  to  his  glory  a  young  lady  of 
the  city  of  most  gentle  appearance  who  had  been 
exceedingly  beautiful;  and  he  beheld  her 
body  lying  without  its  soul  in  the  midst  of 
many  ladies  who  were  weeping  piteously.  And 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    65 

because  she  had  once  been  in  the  company  of  the 
lady  of  his  heart  he  writes  or  devises  two 
sonnets  as  a  guerdon  to  her. 

Then  follow  more  visions:  he  goes  on  a 
journey  and  his  most  sweet  lord  appears  to  his 
imagination  like  a  pilgrim  meanly  clad,  out  of 
spirits  and  gazing  on  a  fair,  rapid  and  most 
pellucid  stream  which  flows  along  by  the  road 
where  he  is  walking. 

But  when  he  returns  to  Florence  he  takes 
another  lady  for  his  screen  and  shield  and 
cultivates  her  so  assiduously  that  men  impute 
vice  to  him; and  his  most  gentle  Beatrice,  hear- 
ing the  injurious  gossip,  when  she  sees  him  in 
a  public  place  denies  him  her  most  sweet  salute 
in  which  lay  all  his  bliss.  He  retires  to  his 
chamber  and  after  many  tears  and  lamentations 
falls  asleep.  Love,  whom  he  had  called  to  his 
aid,  appears  like  a  youth  clad  in  purest  white 
and  with  grave  and  thoughtful  face.  The 
poet  takes  the  occasion  to  compose  another 
sonnet  or  rather,  this  time,  a  ballata  which  is 
to  go  forth  on  Love's  trace  and  explain  to  the 
lady  the  reasons  for  his  apparent  faithlessness. 

He  next  sees  Beatrice  at  a  wedding  and  the 
sight  of  her  robs  him  of  all  his  senses,  even  the 


66  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

spirit  of  sight;  and  the  ladies  that  are  present 
beholding  him  as  he  leans  against  a  mural 
painting,  make  mock  at  him  together  with 
Beatrice.  "Ah!"  he  cries,  "if  this  lady 
realised  my  state  she  would  not  make  sport  of 
me:  she  would  rather  have  pity  on  me." 

One  more  picture  from  "La  Vita  Nuova." 
He  had  been  ill  many  days,  suffering  grievous 
anguish,  and  on  the  ninth  day,  as  he  thinks  of 
the  slight  tenure  of  his  life,  it  suddenly  occurs 
to  him  that  "gentlest  Beatrice"  must  also  some 
time  die.  Then  bewilderment  overcomes  him, 
he  closes  his  eyes  in  a  sort  of  frenzy;  ladies  with 
dishevelled  hair  appear  to  him  and  say: 
"Thou  too  must  die,"  and  then  strange  faces 
horrible  to  behold  come  and  say:  "Thou  art 
dead!" 

Then  he  knows  not  where  he  is  and  it  seems 
to  him  that  the  ladies  with  the  dishevelled  hair 
pass  by  piteously  weeping  and  the  sun  grows 
dark  and  the  stars  change  colour  and,  as  it  were, 
weep  and  the  birds  as  they  fly  fall  dead  and 
mighty  earthquakes  occur.  And  a  certain 
friend  comes  to  him  saying:  "Dost  thou  not 
know  ?  Thine  admirable  lady  is  departed 
from  the  world!"  And  as  with  streaming  eyes 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    67 

he  looks  toward  heaven  it  seems  to  him  he  sees 
a  multitude  of  angels  returning  thither,  before 
them  a  cloudlet  of  exceeding  whiteness  and  they 
sing  gloriously  Osanna  in  Excelsis. 

So  strong  is  his  errant  fancy  that  it  shows 
to  him  the  lady  dead  as  she  lay,  her  head 
covered  with  a  white  veil  and  face  seeming  to 
say:  "Now  do  I  behold  the  beginning  of  peace." 
It  is  only  a  vision  but  so  real  that  he  wakes 
with  a  sound  of  grievous  lamentation  and  calls 
on  Death  to  take  him  away.  And  a  young  and 
gentle  lady,  of  nearest  kinship,  supposing  it  is 
the  pain  of  his  infirmity,  weeps  for  fear  and  the 
other  ladies  in  the  chamber  send  her  away  and 
try  to  comfort  him. 

The  Beatrice  of  the  Vita  Nuova  died,  accord- 
ing to  Dante,  on  the  ninth  of  June,  1290,  and  he 
vowed  that  if  his  life  should  be  prolonged  to  say 
of  her  what  was  never  said  of  any  woman.  He 
was  to  go  to  behold  the  glory  of  the  lady  of  his 
soul,  that  blessed  Beatrice  who  in  heaven 
looked  on  the  face  of  Him  qui  est  per  omma 
saecula  benedlctus! 

No  modern  critical  spirit  must  breathe  on 
this  ideal  picture  of  a  mediaeval  Love.  The 
tears  and  the  sentimentality,  the  burning  hearts 


68  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  the  white-robed  angels,  the  illness  and  the 
secrecy  hiding  or  rather  one  might  say  betraying 
the  affliction  which  was  a  delight  were  all  a  part 
of  the  phenomenon.  In  Florence  where,  accord- 
ing to  the  Troubadours,  "joy  and  song  and  love 
were  perfect  and  adorned,"  such  a  celebration 
of  a  heart-passion  was  natural  and  comprehen- 
sible. In  June,  1283,  a  thousand  or  more  men 
all  clad  in  white  gowns,  with  a  leader  called  the 
Lord  of  Love,  gave  themselves  up  to  games  and 
sports  and  dancing  and  processions  through 
the  city  with  trumpets  and  other  instruments 
of  gaiety,  and  the  festival  lasted  for  two 
whole  months  and  was  the  most  famous  ever 
held  in  Tuscany. 

When  a  city  or  a  nation  suddenly  awakens  to 
a  new  life,  intellectual  or  moral  or  religious  or 
artistic,  there  is  likely  to  be  an  excess  of  joy  in 
all  manifestations  of  the  revival.  In  the  early 
days  of  this  country  a  new  religious  effervescence 
was  called  by  the  name  of  enthusiasm.  Dante 
lived  in  the  Florence  of  the  thirteenth  century: 
what  splendours  of  fresh  architecture,  of  noble 
painting,  of  rich  sculptures  must  have  delighted 
his  eyes!  What  generous  rivalry  of  letters  and 
song!  The  "  Purgatory  "  betrays  his  admiration 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    69 

for  the  plastic  arts;  everywhere  we  find  evi- 
dences of  his  love  for  music. 

Nothing  of  political  life,  no  reflection  of  the 
unsafer  passions  that  were  gathering  for  fatal 
explosion  are  to  be  found  in  the  Vita  Nuova. 
It  is  a  simple  love  story  with  no  plot:  a  succes- 
sion of  visions  and  love-poems,  sonnets  and 
canzoni,  strung  together  with  quaint  and 
curiously  symbolical  artifice.  One  must  under- 
stand the  ancient  significance  of  numbers  to 
realize  how  the  figure  nine  rules  the  destiny  of 
Beatrice.  The  mystic  three  and  one  and  three 
thrice  multiplied  plus  one,  making  the  so- 
called  perfect  number,  regulate  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  poems,  longer  and  shorter.  Both 
Dante  and  Beatrice  are  nine  or  on  the  verge  of 
nine  when  they  first  meet  and  twice  nine  when 
they  meet  again  and  the  date  of  the  fair  lady's 
death  is  the  ninth  of  June. 

The  "Divine  Comedy"  consists  of  three  parts, 
aggregating  a  hundred  cantos.  Hell  is  laid  out  in 
nine  circles,  Purgatory  in  seven  besides  the  Ante- 
Purgatory  and  the  Terrestrial  Paradise;  Para- 
dise has  nine  heavens.  There  are  three  wild 
beasts,  three  blessed  women,  three  guides,  three 
faces  of  Lucifer;  even  the  verse  is  the  terza  nma. 


70          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  artificiality  and  the  laboured 
puns  and  conceits  that  are  lavished  in  descrip- 
tions, in  spite  of  the  circumlocutions  and  the 
lack  of  definiteness,  in  spite  of  the  symbolism 
and  the  allegory,  Dante's  Beatrice  stands  out 
as  one  of  the  most  living  and  natural  maidens 
in  the  world:  real,  because  she  appeals  pe- 
culiarly to  the  imagination  and  therefore  - 
because  painted  with  the  few  masterly  touches 
of  the  poet  —  most  picturesque  and  beautiful. 
No  details  encumber  the  free  play  of  fancy 
and  therefore  she  is  a  maiden  for  all  hearts  to 
love  whether  depicted  under  the  stiff  draperies 
of  a  modern  Prerafaelite  or  in  the  realism  of  a 
Dresden  Koch  —  so  pure,  so  chaste,  so  beauti- 
ful, so  divine ! 

Gaspary  sees  in  her  the  ideal  of  platonic  love; 
but  aside  from  the  probability  that  Dante  was 
wholly  unacquainted  with  what  we  understand 
by  platonic  love,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  utter 
one-sidedness  of  the  passion  is  fatal  to  any  such 
ideal:  a  platonic  affection  is  a  mutual  exchange 
of  love  with  the  idea  of  possession  excluded. 
The  woman  has  the  same  interest  in  the  man  as 
the  man  has  in  the  woman.  Sex  is  ignored. 
But  in  Dante's  case  Beatrice  is  worshipped  from 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    71 

afar  and,  dying,  becomes  the  regnant  influence 
of  his  life.  Had  it  been  a  vulgar  earthly  passion, 
had  he  dreamed  of  a  union  other  than  spiritual, 
the  symbolical  significance  of  the  Vita  Nuova 
would  have  been  an  absurdity.  This  lofty 
purity  is  what  sets  this  golden  book  studded 
with  gems  above  the  Song  of  Solomon. 

When  we  go  from  the  Vita  Nuova  to  the 
great  Vision,  we  are  assuredly  in  the  domain  of 
the  symbolical.  We  may  regard  Dante  him- 
self in  this  marvellous  journey  under  a  twofold 
aspect:  he  represents  humanity,  he  is  the  poet 
of  the  Vita  Nuova.  In  either  case  Beatrice  is 
something  more  concrete  than  abstract  theo- 
logy or  even  divine  wisdom:  she  is  abstract 
woman,  she  is  also  perhaps  the  Saving  Church. 
But  to  us  she  is  interesting  only  as  the  one 
woman,  only  as  a  picturesque  figure,  as  seen 
by  the  poet  as  a  man  and  not  as  a  mediaeval 
theologian. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Dante  in  middle 
age  —  as  he  expresses  it  in  his  characteristic 
circumlocution,  nell  mezzo  del  cammin  di  nostra 
vita  —  finds  himself  wandering  in  a  dark 
forest,  prevented  by  three  wild  beasts  from 
climbing  the  mountain  that  should  bring  him 


72  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

to  the  Terrestrial  Paradise;  the  first  is  a  beauti- 
ful spotted  panther,  variously  interpreted  as 
meaning  Florence  or  the  sin  of  incontinence; 
the  second  is  a  rabid  lion  that  makes  the  very 
air  affrighted,  this  signifying  France  or  pride 
or  ambition  or  violence;  and  the  third  a  lean 
she-wolf  that  seems  burdened  with  hungry 
cravings,  meaning  Rome  or  fraud,  or  the 
avarice  of  the  Guelfs  or  the  hatred  of  Dante's 
enemies.  Dante  himself  vouchsafes  no  ex- 
planation and  the  range  of  choice  is  very  wide. 

As  he  slowly  retreats  into  the  pass  that  had 
filled  the  lake  of  his  heart  with  terror  he  beholds 
one  who  through  long  silence  seemed  feeble  or 
hoarse.  It  is  Vergil  who  has  come  to  rescue 
him.  Vergil  throughout  the  Middle  Ages  is 
regarded  as  a  powerful  magician,  a  necromancer, 
the  pagan  prophet  of  Christianity.  To  Dante 
he  is  the  honour  and  light  of  poetry,  his  master 
and  his  author,  the  one  from  whom  alone  he 
took  the  beautiful  style  —  lo  bello  stile  —  that 
had  done  him  honour,  but  in  the  mystic  sense 
the  type  of  right  reason. 

As  Vergil  proceeds  to  lead  Dante  through  the 
eternal  place  where  he  should  hear  the  despairing 
shrieks  of  those  ancient  spirits  of  woe  who  cry 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    73 

out  for  the  second  death,  he  relates  how  the 
rescue  came  about: 

"I  was  among  those  that  dwell  suspended  in 
limbo,  betwixt  hell  and  heaven;  and  a  lady 
blessed  and  beautiful  [beata  e  bella]  called  me 
and  I  besought  her  to  command.  Her  eyes 
shone  brighter  than  the  Sun  or  Venus  and  sweet 
and  low  she  began  in  her  own  tongue  with  her 
angelic  voice." 

Here,  by  the  way,  is  the  excuse  for  Dante's 
composing  the  poem  in  Italian  instead  of  Latin 
as  at  first  he  intended:  the  vernacular  was 
vastly  richer  in  poetic  possibilities,  for  a  living 
literature  must  have  a  spoken  language  as  its 
organ  and  Beatrice's  own  tongue  was  the 
melodious  Tuscan,  young  and  beautiful  daugh- 
ter of  Vergil's  Latin.  Those  words  of  Vergil 
give  to  our  ears  the  incomparable  music  of  its 
form,  so  hopelessly  beyond  the  power  of  any 
translation,  prose  or  rhythmical,  to  express: — 

E  donna  mi  chiamo  beata  e  bella 
Tal  che  di  comandar  to  la  richiesi. 

Lucevan  gli  occhi  suoi  piii  che  la  Stella 
E  cominciommi  a  dir  soave  e  pi  ana 

Con  angelica  voce  in  sua  favella. 

Beatrice  tells  the  courteous  Mantuan  how,  as 
she  was  sitting  with  the  ancient  Rachel,  Lucia 


74  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

(by  whom  the  commentators  understand  Dante 
to  mean  illuminating  grace)  comes  as  a  mes- 
senger from  a  gentle  lady  in  heaven  who 
breaks  stern  Judgment  and  disarms  Justice, 
(this  being  either  the  Virgin  Mary  or  the  Divine 
Goodness  personified),  and  tells  her  of  the 
desperate  strait  of  him  who  for  love  of  her  had 
deserted  the  vulgar  herd  and  was  now  combating 
death  beside  the  flood  of  passions  and  political 
tumults  more  stormy  than  the  sea. 

And  Beatrice  tells  him  how,  swifter  than  men 
seek  their  advantage  and  flee  their  hurt,  she  had 
come  down  from  that  seat  of  beatitude,  and  as 
she  said  it,  weeping  she  turned  her  lucent  eyes 
upon  him. 

Is  not  that  a  picture  to  linger  in  the  memory  ? 
Those  two  gracious  figures,  one  of  course  in  the 
Roman  toga,  the  type  of  the  noble  Roman  who 
used  to  meet  Augustus  at  the  villa  of  Maecenas, 
the  other  the  beautiful  Florentine  Donna,  the 
type  of  all  that  was  loveliest  and  best  in  Italian 
womanhood,  dressed,  though  a  spirit,  in  robes 
such  as  she  was  wont  to  wear  at  Florentine 
festivals. 

It  is  the  only  pleasant  picture  that  relieves 
the  gloom  of  hell  unless  one  —  as  one  must 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE   75 

indeed — except  the  description  of  Limbo.  Dante 
and  his  serene  Guide  are  welcomed  there 
by  four  great  shades  —  quattro  grand'  ombre  — 
Homer,  sword  in  hand,  lord  of  the  rest,  the 
sovereign  poet;  Horace  the  Satirist,  Ovid  and 
Lucan;  and  they  welcome  Dante  as  the  sixth. 
And  together  the  fair  school  of  that  lord  of 
loftiest  song  pass  on  until  they  reach  the  foot 
of  a  noble  castle  seven  times  girt  by  lofty  walls, 
defended  round  about  by  a  beautiful  streamlet. 
They  ford  it  as  if  it  had  been  dry  land  and 
through  seven  gates  enter  upon  a  meadow  of 
fresh  verdure  —  prato  di  fresca  verdura  —  where 
were  people  with  slow  and  serious  eyes,  with 
great  authority  in  their  looks,  who  spake  seldom 
but  with  sweet  voices. 

In  an  open  place,  lofty  and  luminous,  were 
gathered  all  these  great  spirits  on  the  enamelled 
green:  Hector  and  Aeneas,  Caesar  in  armour 
with  his  falcon  eyes  and  Aristotle  the  Master  of 
those  that  know,  seated  in  the  midst  of  the 
filosofica  famiglia,  all  of  whom  looked  up  to 
him,  all  did  him  honour;  and  nearest  to  him 
Socrates  and  Plato  and  then  all  the  pagan 
poets  and  great  men,  worthy  of  heaven  indeed, 
but  through  fatal  ignorance  deprived  of  that 


76  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

higher  felicity  but  not  unhappy,  knowing  not 
of  the  higher  heavens  for  those  that  believed. 

Out  from  that  calm  and  quiet  retreat  Vergil 
leads  Dante  into  the  air  that  trembles,  into  the 
darkness  that  stifles  and  they  begin  the  dread 
descent  through  the  spiral  circles  narrowing 
down  into  the  awful  pits  where  the  Damned  are 
forever  punished. 

Dante  has  been  criticised  for  his  cruel  imagi- 
nation of  the  pangs  of  hell.  But  he  only  followed 
the  fashion  of  his  day  and  generation,  he  only 
accepted  the  faith  of  his  Church.  Moreover, 
viewed  symbolically,  each  punishment  is  seen 
to  be  but  the  logical  outcome  of  the  special  sin: 
blasphemers  are  seen  lying  prone  in  the  desert  of 
sand  beaten  by  a  rain  of  fire,  their  helplessness 
before  God  typified  in  their  attitude;  in  the  third 
pit  those  guilty  of  simony,  who  sold  the  precious 
pearl  for  worldly  possessions,  who  sought  the  bad, 
who  trod  the  good  under  foot,  have  now  dark- 
ness for  light,  bitter  for  sweet,  and  are  depicted 
with  their  heads  and  bodies  in  the  dirt  and  their 
legs  in  the  air.  Thieves  are  changed  into  ser- 
pents, church-robbers,  like  Vanni  Fucci,  adding 
sacrilege  to  theft  are  burnt  to  all  eternity  in  a 
consuming  fire,  ever  sinking  to  ashes  and  rising 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    77 

again  like  the  phoenix.  Mohammed,  who  rent 
the  Christian  Church,  is  split  from  chin  to 
rump,  while  those  guilty  of  cold  treachery, 
unwarmed  by  a  spark  of  feeling,  are  in  the 
lowest  deeps  where  the  tears  freeze  in  their 
eyes  and  they  are  themselves  rigid  with  never- 
yielding  frost. 

In  the  eighth  song,  while  they  are  crossing  the 
turbid  waters  of  the  Styx  in  the  ancient  boat  of 
Phlegyas,  a  soul  full  of  filthy  mud  stretches  out 
his  two  hands  to  them.  Vergil  thrusts  him 
disdainfully  back  saying:  "Away,  with  the 
other  dogs"  —  Via  costa  con  gli  altri  cant — and 
to  Dante,  after  expressing  a  blessing  on  the 
mother  who  bore  him,  he  expresses  all  his  scorn 
for  that  persona  orgogliosa  —  that  haughty  per- 
sonage who  together  with  proud  kings  like  swine 
in  the  vile  filth  are  now  wallowing. 

Dante  replies:  "Master,  I  should  be  full 
fain  to  see  him  swallowed  up  in  this  mire 
before  we  depart  from  the  lake."*  Vergil 
assures  him  that  it  is  fitting  he  should  have 
such  a  wish  gratified,  and  a  moment  later 
he  beholds  him  in  such  torment  under  the 


*  Maestro,  molto  sarei  vago 
Di  vederlo  attufiare   in  questa  broda 
Prima  che  not  uscissimo  del  logo. 


78  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

attentions  of  the  fangosi  genti  —  the  filthy  tribe 
—  that  he  praises  and  thanks  God  for  it. 
Thus  Dante  revenges  himself  on  Filippo  Argenti 
whom  he  calls  lo  fiorentino  spirito  bizarroy  where 
the  strange  word  bizarro  seems  to  mean  "of 
wily  but  inexorable  temper." 

The  most  familiar  picture  from  the  "Inferno" 
is  that  of  Francesca  da  Rimini  and  Paolo,  her 
lover,  borne  swiftly  on  the  murky  air  —  aer 
nero  —  like  starlings,  hither,  thither,  up  and 
down  —  di  qua,  di  V ,  di  giii,  di  sit  —  so  light 
upon  the  wind.  And  when  for  one  brief  moment 
the  wind  is  silent  come  those  million-times 
cited  lines: 

Nessun  maggior  dolor e 

Che    ricordarsi    del    tempo    felice 

Nell  a  mis  en  a. 

But  are  they  true  —  those   words    so    entirely 
contrary  to  those  others: 

'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all  ? 

If  Paolo  and  Francesca  loved  guiltily  and  were 
punished  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  their 
crime,  was  not  most  of  the  bitterness  removed 
by  the  fact  that  they  were  at  least  together  through 
the  long  aeons  of  measureless  time  ?  Or  can 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    79 

we  read  into  the  punishment  the  quite  modern 
idea  that  their  enforced  companionship  was  a 
greater  torment  than  separation  would  have 
been  ?  In  accordance  with  the  materialism 
of  the  "Divine  Comedy"  the  physical  agonies  of 
the  damned  were  even  keener  than  they  would 
have  been  in  the  flesh.  But,  evidently,  Dante, 
whose  stern  being  was  nevertheless  attuned  to 
all  the  harmonies  of  love,  felt  deep  sorrow  for 
the  hapless  pair  who  though  technically  guilty, 
have  more  than  any  historic  lovers  carried 
the  sympathy  of  the  world.  The  few  lines 
in  which  the  story  is  told  contain  the  quint- 
essence of  a  tragedy  which  has  been  elaborated 
into  long  dramas,  has  been  presented  on  the 
lyric  stage  and  has  inspired  the  rhapsodies  of 
the  greatest  musicians.  Nowhere  is  Dante's 
art  more  admirably  illustrated  than  in  that 
final  line  of  Francesca's  pathetic  explanation 
where  never  once  she  complains  of  Fate  or  hints 
that  the  punishment  is  undeserved.  Having 
told  of  the  temptation  and  of  the  fatal  kiss  she 
hints  at  the  jealous  husband's  vengeance  in 
these  words :  Qtiel  giorno  piu  non  vi  leggemmo 
avante — "We  read  no  further  in  the  book  that 
day." 


80          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Among  the  multitude  of  picturesque  though 
horrible  details  in  the  "Inferno"  perhaps  the  ride 
of  the  two  Poets  on  the  huge  shoulders  of  the 
monster  Geryon  from  the  seventh  circle  —  of 
those  that  have  done  violence  to  Art  —  down  to 
the  eighth  where  Pope  Nicholas  III  suffers,  is 
the  most  striking:  We  see  the  huge  dragon 
stretching  out  his  long  tail,  gathering  in  the  air 
with  his  paws  and  moving  his  mighty  vans. 
"I  was  in  the  air  on  every  side,"  says  Dante. 
"  Every  sight  vanished  save  that  of  the  dragon. 
It  went  away,  swimming  slowly,  slowly  wheeled 
and  descended,  but  I  perceived  it  not  save  that 
the  wind  blew  on  my  face  and  from  below." 

Every  detail  fills  the  mind  with  the  satisfac- 
tion of  vision:  it  is  a  triumph  of  description. 

Another  picture  from  the  "Inferno"  which 
haunts  the  memory  is  that  of  the  monarch  of 
the  dolorous  realm  with  his  three  faces,  red, 
yellow  and  black,  with  his  six  enormous  wings 
like  those  of  a  bat  and  flapping  forth  three 
winds  congealing  all  Cocytus : 

"With  his  six  eyes  he  weeps  and  over  his 
three  chins  trickle  the  tears  and  the  bloody 
slaver,  while  in  his  three  mouths  he  is  crunching 
with  his  teeth,  like  a  hemp-masher,  Judas 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    81 

Iscariot,  Brutus  andCassius" — the  three  cham- 
pion traitors  of  the  world. 

Tutto  avem  veduto  —  they  had  seen  it  all. 
They  have  now  reached  the  centre  of  the  earth 
which  according  to  the  Ptolemaic  system  is  also 
the  centre  of  the  Universe,  and  when  at  last  they 
pass  through  the  hidden  passage  to  return  to  the 
bright  world,  they  behold  through  a  round 
aperture  the  beauteous  things  that  the  heavens 
bear  and  once  more  look  upon  the  stars.  It  has 
been  a  long  hard  journey  for  only  four  and 
twenty  hours.  The  rest  of  his  pilgrimage  takes 
much  more  time  to  accomplish  and  seems  to 
offer  far  less  in  the  way  of  picturesque  detail. 
The  descriptions  are  more  transcendental  and 
offer  less  occasion  to  the  artist  that  would  at- 
tempt to  illustrate  the  poem.  The  concrete 
shapes,  though  so  horrible,  that  swarm  through 
the  pages  of  the  "  Inferno,"  give  place  to  bril- 
liant lights,  to  angelic  songs. 

Exquisitely  beautiful  and  pictorial  is  the  be- 
ginning of  the  "  Purgatory."  At  the  very  first 
we  have  the  atmosphere  like  soft  Oriental 
sapphire;  the  fair  planet  that  incites  to  love 
makes  all  the  East  smile,  the  heavens  seem  to 
rejoice  in  the  four  stars  —  symbols  of  the  four 


8z  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

cardinal  virtues,  Prudence,  Temperance,  Forti- 
tude and  Justice;  and  the  contrast  to  the  fearful 
region  which  we  have  just  left  makes  all  the 
more  vivid  the  beauty  of  the  hopeful  landscape 
which  is  introductory  to  the  region  of  purgative 
pains. 

After  speech  with  the  younger  Cato  who 
appears  like  an  aged  man  with  a  reverend  white 
beard  and  his  face  illumined  by  the  rays  of  the 
four  holy  stars,  they  pass  across  the  plain  until 
they  behold  the  glittering  sea  — il  tremolar  della 
marina,  and  soon  they  come  to  the  shores  of 
those  desert  waters  which  man  crosses  only 
once.  How  beautiful  is  the  approach  of  the 
swift  boat  —  preceded  by  a  light  swifter  than 
aught  earthly  flies,  and  guided  by  the  angel  of 
God,  the  Celestial  Pilot  in  the  stern  and  a  con- 
voy of  a  hundred  spirits  singing  together  with 
one  voice! 

The  description  of  the  gate  of  Purgatory  is 
fine  with  its  symbolical  three  steps:  the  first  of 
white  marble,  mirror-like,  polished;  the  second 
of  rugged  rock,  rough,  coarse-grained  and 
cracked;  the  third  of  fiery  porphyry  like  blood 
that  gushes  from  the  vein;  and  the  silent  warder 
dressed  in  ashen  gray  standing  on  the  topmost 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    83 

step  with  naked  sword  reflecting  dazzling  rays 
and  holding  the  silver  and  the  golden  key. 

Then  when  they  have  entered  they  pass  the 
walls  sculptured  with  a  multitude  of  intaglios 
each  so  lovingly  described.  It  is  interesting  to 
note  that  Dante  expressed  his  belief  that  Poly- 
kleitos,  the  Greek  sculptor,  was  able  to  surpass 
Nature  in  his  art  and  he  practically  recommends 
the  practice  of  adorning  churches  with  repre- 
sentations of  Biblical  scenes  so  that  those  unable 
to  read  might  through  their  eyes  win  instruction. 

Vergil  accompanies  Dante  through  most  of 
the  circles  of  Purgatory  and  when  at  last  the 
seven  P's,  standing  for  the  peccavi  of  the  seven 
mortal  sins,  have  been  cleared  from  the  poet's 
brow  Vergil  pronounces  his  will  free,  upright 
and  sane  —  Libero,  dntto,  sano  e  tuo  arbitrio — 
and  he  is  ready  to  enter  into  the  terrestrial 
paradise. 

It  is  supposed  that  Dante  got  his  inspiration 
for  the  scenery  of  the  earthly  paradise  from  his 
memory  of  Ravenna  where  he  lived  two  years  — 
the  heavenly  forest  dense  and  green  —  la  divina 
foresta  spessa  e  viva  — through  which  he  makes 
his  way,  the  soil  everywhere  breathing  fragrance, 
the  wind  making  low  music  in  the  pines,  his  brow 


84  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

cooled  by  the  soft  breeze  —  blowing  toward  the 
west,  the  river  of  clear  waters  with  grasses  bend- 
ing down  to  meet  their  own  reflections,  the 
varied  May  blossoms  full  of  dew  and  amid  them 
the  fair  lady,  Matilda,  the  type  of  virtuous 
activity,  who  appears  solitary  singing  like  a 
maid  in  love  —  cantando  come  donna  innamo- 
rata.  She  gathers  the  flowers  that  paint  her 
pathway: — 

Then  as  fair  lady  moving  in  the  dance 

Turns  with  her  soles  just  lifted  from  the  ground 

And  scarcely  one  foot  forward  doth  advance, 

She  among  red  and  golden  flowers  turned  round 

To  me. 

She  leads  him  forward  and  exclaims  "My 
brother  look  and  listen"  — Frate  mio,  guarda  e 
ascolta.  A  sweet  melody  runs  through  the 
luminous  air;  under  the  green  branches  is  seen 
something  like  a  blazing  fire  and  the  sweet 
sound  becomes  a  song.  A  fair  array  brighter 
than  the  full  moon  in  March  approaches:  there 
are  people  clad  in  spotless  white;  the  water  of 
the  stream  grows  resplendent;  flamelets  like 
streaming  pennants  mark  the  air  with  seven 
broad  zones  of  colour  like  a  rainbow  and 
four  and  twenty  elders  crowned  with  fleur  de 
lys  walk  two  by  two  singing  "Blessed  art 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    85 

thou  among  the  daughters  of  Adam  and  blessed 
forever  be  thy  beauties." 

These  are  followed  by  four  living  creatures 
—  animali  —  crowned  with  bright  green  leaf- 
age, each  feathered  with  six  wings,  argus- 
eyed.  Then  comes  a  triumphal  two-wheeled 
chariot  drawn  by  a  gryphon  —  half  eagle, 
half  lion,  typifying  the  dual  nature  of  Christ: 
the  bird-members  gold,  the  rest  vermilion 
and  white.  Three  ladies,  representing  (it  is 
supposed)  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity,  one, 
ruddy  as  fire,  one  like  bright  emerald,  'one 
white  as  new-fallen  snow,  come  dancing  about 
the  chariot  on  the  right;  on  the  left  are  four  in 
festal  array,  dressed  in  imperial  purple;  these 
are  the  four  cardinal  virtues  and  the  colour  of 
their  garb  typifies  their  dominance  over  human 
life.  These  take  their  step  from  their  leader, 
Prudence,  whose  three  eyes  look  at  the  past, 
the  present  and  the  future.  Then  come  two 
old  men  and  four  others  humble  in  appear- 
ance, representing  and  personifying  the  latter 
books  of  the  Testament.  They  are  robed 
in  white  and  are  crowned  with  roses.  And 
a  hundred  voices  sing  Benedictus  qut  venis 
and  those  lovely  words  from  the  Aeneid, 


86  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

manibus  o  date  lilia  plenis — "scatter  lilies  in 
handfuls." 

And  now  to  Dante's  streaming  eyes  appears, 
within  a  cloud  of  flowers  falling  within  and 
without  the  chariot,  a  lady  with  an  olive-wreath, 
symbol  of  peace  and  wisdom,  above  a  white 
veil  and  robed  in  colour  of  living  flame  under  a 
green  mantle:  the  three  colours  of  Faith,  Charity 
and  Hope.  Vergil  suddenly  vanishes.  The 
lady  hid  by  the  veil  and  circled  by  the  leaf  of 
Minerva  haughty  in  her  manner  cries:  "Behold 
me!  Beatrice  am  I"  —  Guardami  ben:  ben  sony 
ben  son  Beatrice!  With  the  sternest  reproach  in 
her  voice  she  asks  how  he  dares  to  approach 
the  mountain.  And  his  eyes  cast  down  see 
his  own  shame  reflected  in  the  clear  crystal 
stream.  Then  she  grows  silent  and  the  angels 
sing  in  Latin:  "In  thee,  O  Lord,  do  I  put 
my  trust."  And  their  compassion  for  him 
causes  the  ice  around  his  heart  to  melt  and  the 
breath  and  water  with  anguish  pour  from  his 
breast  through  his  mouth  and  through  his  eyes. 

But  when  she  has  sufficiently  humiliated  him 
and  filled  him  with  contrition,  Matilda  drags 
him  into  the  stream  and  then  the  beautiful  lady 
opens  her  arms,  clasps  his  head  and  causes  him 


DANTE  AND  THE  PICTURESQUE    87 

to  swallow  some  of  the  water  which  brings 
forgetfulness  of  sins,  and  when  he  had  thus  been 
bathed  she  brings  him  within  the  minuet  of  the 
four  Beautiful  Ones  —  the  cardinal  virtues,  and 
each  of  them  covers  him  with  her  arm. 

All  this  richness  of  symbolical  but  picturesque 
imagery  would  form  a  panoramic  frieze  such  as 
it  would  seem  an  Abbey  might  take  delight 
in  realising. 

The  "Paradiso"  offers  far  less  of  satisfying 
illustrative  material.  One  reads  on  and  on, 
as  in  a  mist  of  indefinite  light  and  with  in- 
effable sounds  of  music  ringing  in  the  ears. 
All  one  feels  is  that  Dante  is  with  his  thrice- 
sanctified  mistress  in  bliss  unspeakable.  One 
could  not  depict  with  success  the  strange  bodiless 
dance  of  the  two  companies  of  saints  so  elabo- 
rately compared  to  the  marshalling  of  the  stars 
of  heaven.  No  artist  could  satisfactorily  portray 
such  supernal  flights  of  the  poet's  imagination. 
No,  to  find  fit  and  agreeable  pictures  one  must 
travel  back  into  the  "Purgatory  "and  there  occa- 
sionally will  come  across  a  hint  of  a  landscape 
such  as  the  patient  copyer  of  mediaeval  missals 
loved  to  introduce  into  his  illuminations,  such 
as  this  for  instance  in  the  seventh  canto: 


88  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Twixt  hill  and  plain  a  winding  path  did  trend 

Which  led  within  the  bosom  of  the  vale, 
To  where  the  ledge  doth  more  than  half  descend. 

Gold,  silver,  crimson,  ceruse  splendour  pale, 
The  Indian  wood  so  lucent  and  serene, 

Fresh  emerald,  when  its  outer  coat  doth  scale, 
Placed  in  that  vale  the  plants  and  flowers  between, 

Would  each  and  all  be  found  surpassed  in  hue, 
As  less  by  greater  overpowered  is  seen. 

Alas,  that  no  translation  can  do  justice  to  the 
music  of  that  exquisite  verse!  Dante  had  all 
the  mediaeval  delight  in  green.  The  two  angels 
with  the  two  pointless  swords  that  appear  in  the 
seventh  book  of  the  "  Purgatory"  are  dressed  in 
green  like  new  born  leaves,  and  spread  green 
wings.  That  does  not  comport  with  our  usual 
idea  of  angels  but  possibly  amid  the  throng  of 
dazzlingly  white  spirits  the  eye  might  find 
infinite  rest  in  verdant-winged  angels. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  Dante  was  an  artist. 
To  say  nothing  of  his  mastery  of  poetic  form,  his 
loving  reference  to  colour  and  to  plastic  creation 
shows  how  thoroughly  permeated  he  was  with 
the  spirit  that  at  that  time  was  beginning  to 
spread  through  Italy  and  was  to  bring  forth  such 
wonderful  paintings,  statues  and  architecture. 
The  obligation  of  art  to  the  great  poet  has 
never  been  sufficiently  realised;  it  never  can  be. 


Ill 

LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA 


'T^HE  sun  of  Poesy  shone  bright  on  the 
•*-  lovely  lands  of  Provence.  Numberless 
Troubadours  went  wandering  through  Europe 
—  gay,  vagrant  bards,  furnished  with  lute  and 
voice,  hovering  like  musical  birds  in  the  per- 
fumed atmosphere  of  luxurious  courts  and 
restlessly  enjoying  their  chance  existences. 

Thus  Pierre  Vidal  is  found  in  Spain  and 
Hungary  and  the  Far  East.  In  1189  he  was 
with  the  Marchese  Bonifacio  in  Montferrat 
where  he  delighted  the  nobles  with  his  praises 
of  a  fair  Lombarda.  In  1205  he  was  in  the 
Island  of  Malta  with  Count  Enrico.  Rambauld 
de  Vaquieras  also  came  to  Montferrat  and  so 
won  favour  that  the  Marquis  made  him  a  che- 
valier and  brother-in-arms.  He  sang  of  Boni- 
facio's sister  or  daughter,  with  whom  he  had  very 
intimate  relations.  In  1194  he  went  to  Sicily 
with  the  Marquis  whose  life  he  sared  in  a  battle 
near  Messina.  In  1202  he  went  with  him  to 

89 


90  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Jerusalem  where  five  years  later  he  perished  by 
his  side.  These  are  only  two  out  of  number- 
less examples  of  similar  relationships. 

The  Troubadours  taught  their  art  to  the 
cultured  inhabitants  of  upper  Italy,  where 
Proven£al  became  an  almost  twin  language 
with  Tuscan.  Princes  and  ladies  caught  the 
trick  of  song.  Beatrice  d'Este,  the  daughter 
of  Azzo  VI.  and  Emilia  of  Ravenna,  sang  of 
chivalrous  love. 

Not  merely  of  love  did  the  Troubadours  sing: 
they  took  active  part  in  politics,  choosing  sides 
in  the  great  conflicts  between  the  Guelfs  and  the 
Ghibellines,  urging  Emperors  to  greater  zeal 
against  proud  Milan  or  Genova  la  superba. 

Uc  de  Saint  Circ,  in  a  poem  addressed  to 
Count  Guido  Guerra  and  other  Italian  Guelfs, 
displays  the  bitterest  hatred  against  Frederic 
the  Heretic,  threatens  his  supporters  with  mis- 
fortunes and  urges  Francis  and  the  Church  to  a 
crusade  against  the  Empire,  "for  the  infidel 
should  have  no  land." 

Then  if  ever  in  the  history  of  the  world  a 
single  song  was  worth  more  than  the  ablest 
Latin  pamphlet. 

If  the  Italians  wrote  sometimes  in  Provencal, 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  91 

Rambauld  de  Vaquieras  himself  at  least  twice 
composed  Italian  verse.  In  one  song  he  makes 
a  beautiful  Genoese  speak  in  her  own  dialect, 
and  these  verses  are  regarded  as  among  the 
most  ancient  in  Italian:  they  must  have  been 
written  before  1200,  for  about  that  time  he  left 
Italy  never  to  return. 

The  dialect  of  Northern  Italy  being  not  so 
very  different  from  Provencal,  the  imitators 
seemed  not  to  think  of  raising  their  own  tongue 
to  the  dignity  of  a  poetic  function;  in  copying 
they  copied  both  the  model  and  the  language  in 
which  the  model  was  composed. 

The  most  celebrated  of  the  Italian  Trouba- 
dours was  Sordello  of  Mantua,  who  is  praised 
by  Dante  in  his  treatise  of  "Popular  Eloquence/' 
and,  in  the  sixth  and  succeeding  cantos  of  the 
"Purgatory"  is  transfigured  as  the  type  of  gen- 
erous patriotic  pride.  He  wrote  the  "Treasure  of 
Treasures,"  but  his  works  are  Provencal  if  his 
fame  is  Italian. 

Curiously,  but  at  the  same  time  naturally 
enough,  Sicily  was  where  Italian  poetry  first 
began.  Northern  Italy  was  too  near  Marseilles, 
celebrated  by  Raimon  de  Tors  as  the  abode  of 
valour,  courtesy,  love,  song  and  pleasure;  Cen- 


92  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

tral  Italy  had  no  splendid  courts,  but  in  Sicily 
still  lingered  the  beneficent  effects  of  the  pre- 
ceding Arab  civilisation,  and  Federigo  II.  en- 
deavoured to  maintain  and  even  enhance  these 
conditions.  He  was  in  every  way  a  remarkable 
man:  interested  in  science  and  literature, 
excelling  all  his  contemporaries  in  culture  and 
statesmanship.  He  founded  the  University  of 
Naples  in  1224,  collected  Arabic  and  Greek 
manuscripts  and  had  them  translated.  He 
introduced  Aristotle  to  Italy;  rhetoric  flour- 
ished at  his  court.  He  had  his  faults;  if  he  fa- 
voured reform  it  was  because  he  hated  the  Papal 
power,  but  he  burnt  heretics  because  he  saw  in 
them  dangers  to  his  state.  The  Papal  party 
declared  that  he  denied  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  and  Dante  placed  him  in  hell  as  a  heretic 
and  atheist  in  spite  of  the  admiration  which  he 
felt  for  him.  He  tolerated  Mussulmans;  he  was 
on  friendly  terms  with  the  Sultan  of  Egypt  and 
he  followed  Oriental  usages  in  maintaining 
an  extensive  harem.  Indeed,  he  was  called  the 
Baptised  Sultan  of  Sicily,  and  he  deserved  the 
epithet  by  reason  of  his  love  of  wisdom,  his 
despotic  powers  so  strangely  mixed  with  mag- 
nanimity, and  his  brutal  sensuality. 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  93 

Though  under  his  immediate  predecessors 
Arabic  poetry  had  flourished  in  Sicily,  its  in- 
fluence entirely  vanished  under  the  Provencal 
poetry  of  love.  Federigo,  his  son  Enzo,  King 
of  Sardinia,  his  favourite  statesman,  Pier  della 
Vigna  of  Capua,  all  wrote  verse  under  this 
influence.  The  life  of  Della  Vigna,  even  to  its 
tragic  ending  in  1249,  1S  one  l°ng  romance. 

But  otherwise  little  is  known  of  the  Sicilian 
school  except  their  names  and  the  places  from 
which  they  came.  As  their  verse  was  founded 
on  Provencal  models,  it  lacked  freshness  and 
originality.  The  new  language  seemed  to 
exert  no  vivifying  influences.  They  all  sang 
chivalrous  love  —  a  love  which,  tested  by  a 
standard  of  purity,  was  far  from  golden.  The 
truth  about  the  Troubadours  can  hardly  be  told 
unless  in  French.  Yet  this  chivalrous  love,  as 
expressed  in  song,  represents  humble  and  sup- 
pliant adoration:  service  and  obedience  are  its 
keynotes.  The  Troubadour  is  unworthy;  the 
lady  is  cruel  and  causes  him  to  languish  in  vain; 
his  sorrows  bring  him  even  to  death,  but  he  will 
never  cease  to  love  her,  since  from  love  are 
derived  all  valour  and  virtue.  He  must,  therefore, 
persevere;  faithful  service  may  help  him  to 


94 

reach  the  summit  of  his  desires:  suffering  and 
death  will  give  him  honour  and  glory,  since  he 
dies  for  the  nobiltsstma  donna. 

In  Provence  this  ideal  of  love,  artificial  as  it 
seems,  was  indigenous,  springing  from  a  real 
condition  of  things,  from  an  actual  state  of 
society.  It  had  a  certain  amount  of  warmth 
and  sincerity,  delicacy,  elegance.  But  trans- 
planted into  Italy,  after  it  had  outlived  its  full 
maturity  and  was  already  beginning  to  wane, 
it  bore  very  unsatisfactory  fruit.  The  im- 
ported thoughts  and  sentiments  corresponded 
to  no  real  life:  Italy,  Sicily,  had  no  feudal 
chivalry.  Their  festivals  and  tourneys  were 
stage  celebrations.  What  did  Federigo  with 
his  seraglio,  guarded  by  eunuchs,  know  or  care 
for  an  ideal  love  ?  What  did  he  do  for  the  once 
powerful  nobility  of  the  Island  but  hold  it  under 
his  iron  hand  and  do  his  best  to  destroy  it  ? 

The  ancient  Sicilian  lyric,  of  which  he  wrote 
no  small  number  of  delightful  examples,  is  there- 
fore marked  by  what  Gaspary  calls  a  pallid 
conventionality.  Madonna  is  always  the  very 
image  of  abstract  perfection,  without  life  and 
without  movement.  She  is  the  flower  of  women, 
the  fragrant  rose;  she  is  the  mirror  of  beauty,  like 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  95 

the  morning  star;  her  splendour  excels  that  of 
pearls  and  precious  stones;  all  excellent  quali- 
ties belong  to  her  and  from  her  are  derived  all 
the  prizes  that  poets  boast.  Love  is  an  abstrac- 
tion, a  personification,  a  being  with  whom  the 
poet  talks  and  to  whom  he  confesses  his  woes. 
Colourless,  stiff  and  immobile  are  the  relations 
of  the  lovers  in  all  these  conventional  poems. 
Madonna  is  forever  cold;  the  suitor  is  sighing 
out  his  vows,  humbling  himself  in  the  dust 
scarcely  daring  to  hope;  in  view  of  his  undying 
love  will  she  not  mitigate  his  torment  ?  Here  is  an 
example  from  the  works  of  the  Emperor  Federigo : 

Oh  give  me  courage,  sweetest  lady  mine, 

Whose  heart  before  thee  humbly  doth  incline. 

And  while  I  bow  what  right  have  I 

To  such  a  wished-for  gift  of  love, 

Save  that  I  hope  and  still  shall  hope, 

Save  that  belief  is  strong  in  me 

That  joy  will  make  my  heart  beat  high 

That  hope  in  thee  alone  doth  move, 

That  without  thee  I  blindly  grope 

And  none  on  earth  would  serve  but  thee. 

And  when  thy  lovely  face  I  see, 

My  dearest  love  I  feel  great  joy. 

I  trust  thou  knowest  no  annoy 

But  rather  pleasure  in  my  service  free, 

Oh  thou  who  art  the  flower  of  womankind, 

Most  perfect,  most  delightful,  most  refined  1 


96  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Here  are  the  well- remembered  commonplaces; 
and  in  others  of  the  same  school  one  constantly 
comes  across  the  idea  that  from  the  beloved  no 
guerdon  were  better  than  the  greatest  from  other 
women.  He  would  not  be  king  at  the  cost  of 
losing  her.  Love  is  frequently  depicted  as  a 
fire;  the  lover  is  like  gold  tried  in  this  fire. 
Passion  is  the  tempestuous  sea.  The  lover's 
kiss  is  conventionalised  as  the  spear  of  Peleus 
whose  wounds  can  be  healed  only  by  touching 
them  again  with  the  same  deadly  weapon. 
Forever  appear  the  old  stand-bys:  Paris  and 
Helen,  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Tristan  and 
Isolde. 

Another  characteristic  is  the  introduction  of 
some  of  the  fabulous  animals  of  the  Bestiaries, 
so  popular  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  lover  living 
in  the  fire  is  like  the  salamander;  the  lady 
killing  with  her  eyes  is  compared  to  the  basilisk; 
the  song  of  the  dying  swan  is  heard;  the  tiger 
robbed  of  her  young  has  her  mission.  The 
panther  attracting  other  animals  by  her  odorous 
breath  is  a  type  of  the  lady  who  lures  by  her 
grace. 

A  considerable  part  of  this  conventional  orna- 
mentation is  attributed  to  Richard  de  Bar- 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  97 

bezien  who  was  especially  popular  in  Italy. 
Yet  in  Sicily  there  was  some  attempt  to  be 
original  and  to  invent  new  images.  "Water," 
says  Guido  delle  Colonne  in  one  of  his  canzone, 
"is  only  heated  and  not  destroyed  by  fire  be- 
cause of  the  wall  of  the  cup  separating  them: 
so  he  himself  who  once  had  been  like  cold  water, 
yea,  like  unto  ice,  has  been  heated  to  the  boiling 
point  by  love  and  would  have  entirely  eva- 
porated had  it  not  been  for  madonna"  Cer- 
tainly this  making  a  sort  of  tea-kettle  of  his 
inamorata  is  delightfully  original! 

In  another  poem  the  suffering  lover  declares 
that  just  as  the  load-stone  can  attract  iron  only 
because  it  uses  air  as  a  medium,  so  love  ob- 
serves that  madonna  is  required  to  draw  the 
lover  to  himself. 

The  metrical  form,  as  might  be  expected, 
takes  all  sorts  of  curious  conventionalities, 
reminding  one  of  the  seventeen-syllable  "fsllz;! 
hokku  of  the  Japanese.  The  can-zone  con- 
sisted of  strophes  of  similar  structure  and  equal 
length,  with  a  shorter  one  at  the  end  called 
comiato,  congedo,  licenza,  chlusa  or  rltornella. 
The  art  consisted  in  variety  of  accents,  in  choice 
or  neglect  of  caesural  pauses,  in  the  judicious 


98  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  musical  mixture  of  open  or  close  vowel 
sounds.  In  Italian  double,  or  feminine,  rhymes 
prevail — the  sharp  masculine  rhyme  being  almost 
as  comic  to  the  Southern  ear  as  the  triple  rhyme 
to  ours,  and  therefore  reserved  usually  for 
humorous  verse. 

The  length  of  the  lines  varied  but  the  most 
prevalent  were  the  endecasyllabic  and  the 
settenario;  these  two  were  chiefly  employed  in 
later  times  by  Petrarca  whose  example  made 
these  meters  classic. 

The  Italian  strophe  was  generally  more  com- 
plicated than  the  Provencal  and  more  rarely 
lacks  the  artificial  division.  This  consisted  of 
two  parts  similar  in  construction,  called  by 
Dante  pedes,  and  one  of  different  form  called 
syrma.  Sometimes  there  were  four  divisions: 
three  pedes  and  a  versus. 

The  Provencal  was  rather  richer  in  rhymes 
than  even  the  Italian,  and  the  Troubadours 
delighted  in  carrying  the  same  rhyme-scheme 
through  their  poems:  these  were  known  as 
coblas  unisonans,  while  the  Italians  introduced 
new  rhymes  called  coblas  singular's. 

The  sonnet  arose  from  the  tripartite  strophe 
of  the  canzone  and  in  its  origin  is  nothing  more 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  99 

than  the  singular  strophe  adopted  by  the  Trouba- 
dours under  the  name  of  coblas  esparsas,  espe- 
cially designed  to  convey  moral  precepts. 

The  Sicilians  rarely  used  the  sonnet-form. 
There  is  one  by  Pier  della  Vigna,  one  by  King 
Enzo,  one  by  Mazzo  Ricco  and  a  few  by  lacopo 
da  Lentini.  As  if  in  atonement  for  this  lack 
they  made  use  of  a  lyric  form  called  Discord 
corresponding  to  the  Provencal  Descort  or  Lais. 
Here  was  no  division  into  strophes.  They  were 
generally  very  brief;  and  as  they  were  probably 
meant  to  be  sung,  not  too  much  attention  was 
lavished  on  their  meaning.  Here  is  an  example 
of  one  and  it  would  defy  the  most  skilful  trans- 
lator or  oversatter,  as  the  Norwegians  signi- 
ficantly name  the  rash  poet  that  tries  to  cross 
the  turbulent  stream  of  poesy,  for  the  meaning 
is  elusive  and  the  form  is  vaporous: 

Si  mi  sdura 
Scura 

Figura 

Dt    quant'    eo    ne    veto 
Git  occhi  avere 

E  vedere 

E  volere 
E  loro  no  disio. 

It  was  written  by  lacopo  da  Lentini. 


ioo         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

It  is  remarkable  that  a  good  deal  of  the  Sici- 
lian poetry  is  so  modern  in  form  and  so  free 
from  any  admixture  of  Sicilian  dialect.  Some 
theorists  have  argued  that  we  have  these  poems 
not  as  they  were  originally  written  but  as  later 
translations  into  Tuscan.  Dante  praises  Guido 
delle  Colonne  and  others  of  the  Sicilians  for 
having  risen  above  the  vulgar  vernacular  and 
made  a  purer  and  nobler  language.  The  school 
of  Sicilian  poetry  ceased  only  about  forty  years 
before  his  day. 

It  is  certainly  a  remarkable  circumstance  that 
in  three  great  departments  of  literature  —  the 
drama,  lyric  poetry  and  the  modern  novel  — 
Sicily  should  have  played  such  an  important 
part.  But  still  more  remarkable  is  it  that  in  at 
least  two  of  these  departments  the  impulse  to  a 
national  literature  should  have  come  from 
aliens  and  enemies. 

Federigo  II.  and  his  prime  minister,  Pier 
della  Vigna,  were  foreigners  both,  but  they  lived 
as  frequently  in  Naples  as  in  Palermo  and  thus 
cultivated  that  wonderfully  pure  Italian  which 
so  puzzles  the  student  in  that  it  seems  to  have 
sprung  almost  perfect  from  the  head  of  its  parent 
Latin,  as  Minerva  is  fabled  to  have  sprung 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  101 

from  the  brain  of  Jupiter,  without  any  visible 
signs  of  a  long  and  painful  gestation.  And 
again,  it  is  wonderful  that  between  the-  day  of 
the  Sicilians  whose  poems -are 'the  earliest  "known 
and  the  forerunners  of  the- great  school  £f;  T,us- 
can  song,  not  quite  a  century  can  be  reckoned. 
One  fragment  attributed  to  Cuillo  d'Alcamo  men- 
tions Saladin  as  living  in  his  day  and  this  seems 
to  place  him  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century  — 
about  1193  —  and  Dante  was  banished  from 
Florence  in  1202. 

There  is  still  another  reason  to  explain  the 
exceptional  purity  of  the  Sicilian  Italian  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  and  that  is  the 
fact  that  Federigo  II.  attracted  to  his  court  poets 
from  many  different  provinces,  and  the  elegance 
and  refinement  of  the  society  tended  to  smooth 
down  the  crudenesses  which  they  might  have 
brought  with  them.  It  is  interesting  to  notice 
how,  the  more  nearly  one  approaches  the  poetry 
of  the  people,  the  more  simple,  natural  and 
effective  it  becomes.  The  dreary  convention- 
alities disappear.  The  lady-love  is  no  longer 
cold  and  distant  and  severe;  the  lover  no  longer 
humbles  himself  in  the  dust;  he  awakes  from 
his  indolent  posture  of  adoration,  and  if  he  mourn 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 


it  is  because  he  must  leave  her,  though  he  may 
envy  his  own  heart  because  that  at  least  is  left 
in  her  keeping.  While  far  away  from  her,  in 
camp,"  bf  on  trie  cfirsade,  he  remembers  her 
lovely  eyes  -'-^  sitol  tier,  occhi  —  and  her  bright 
tresses  —  biondi  tressi. 

In  some  cases  the  lady  is  described  as  descend- 
ing from  the  windows  of  her  palace  and  throwing 
herself  into  the  poet's  arms.  She  is  represented 
with  a  little  animation  when  she  talks  —  weep- 
ing, expostulating,  using  her  eyes.  And  it  is 
undoubtedly  a  more  honest  poetry.  For  the 
cold  and  apparently  chaste  verse  of  the  Trouba- 
dours was  only  a  whited  sepulchre;  the  chival- 
rous love  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  fair  only  on 
the  outside  ;  the  courts  of  honour  were  dens  of 
dishonour  and  the  real  truth  of  Feudalism  can- 
not be  told. 

The  dramatic  element  that  is  to  be  detected 
in  some  of  the  early  fragments  of  Sicilian  verse 
is  indicative  of  an  approaching  change.  For 
instance  in  one  contrasto,  or  dialogue,  beginning 
Rosa  jresca  aulentissima  -  "  Fresh  fragrant  rose 
that  bloomest  in  the  springtime"  -  a  man  and 
woman  are  represented  as  engaged  in  lively 
conversation.  He  prays  her  to  listen;  she 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  103 

resists.  He  grows  petulant,  she  becomes  angry 
and  threatens  to  go  into  a  convent  or  kill  herself. 

It  was  long  supposed  that  this  fresh  and 
lively  poem  was  the  production  of  a  poet  en- 
dowed with  the  name  of  Cielo  dal  Camo.  By 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  it  had  be- 
come transmogrified  into  Cuillo  —  which  is  a 
form  of  Vencenzo  —  d'Alcamo,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  little  city  of  Alcamo  became  so 
proud  of  their  supposed  poet  that  they  called  a 
piazza  by  his  name  and  actually  raised  a  monu- 
ment to  his  memory.  But  the  poet  of  Alcamo 
is  as  great  a  myth  as  Wilhelm  Tell.  The  story 
proves  very  abundantly  that  the  poet  that  writes 
a  single  good  lyric  which  appeals  to  the  world's 
heart  and  is  never  forgotten  is  more  fortunate 
than  the  more  ambitious  genius  that  leaves 
behind  him  an  epic  which  may  be  called  great 
but  is  never  read  except  as  a  curiosity  or  an  exer- 
cise for  students  of  literature. 

The  growth  of  the  myth  about  Cuillo  d'Alcamo 
is  an  interesting  phenomenon.  It  was  generally 
decided  that  as  the  young  woman  who  is  the 
heroine  of  his  poem  speaks  of  the  wealth  of 
the  Saladin,  her  lover  must  have  been  a  great 
feudal  baron,  owner  of  cities  and  castles.  Hal- 


io4         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

lam,  in  his  "History  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  says: 
"  There  is  not  a  vestige  of  Italian  poetry  older 
than  a  few  fragments  of  Cuillo  d'Alcamo,  a 
Sicilian,  who  must  have  written  before  1193, 
since  he  mentions  Saladin  as  then  living." 

Not  until  1875  was  it  settled  from  internal 
evidence  of  the  language  of  the  poem  itself  that 
it  could  not  have  been  written  before  1231  and 
it  is  now  regarded  by  the  best  judges  as  either 
a  solitary  example  of  the  ancient  popular  poetry 
of  Sicily  or,  more  probably,  an  imitation  of  one 
by  a  so-called  cantor  di  piazza.  In  either  case  it 
is  far  more  interesting  than  the  vast  majority  of 
the  poems  that  have  come  down  to  us  and  are 
preserved  in  the  great  collection  at  the  Vatican. 

By  1266  the  lyric  poetry  of  chivalry  and  love 
had  ceased  to  produce  any  flowers  in  Sicily;  but 
Florence,  which  had  been  rapidly  growing  in 
wealth  and  culture,  was  ready  to  adopt  the  beau- 
tiful art. 

The  founders  of  this  new  lyric  school  were 
Guido  Guinicelli,  Guittone  d'Arezzo  and  Guido 
Cavalcante.  Guittone  d'Arezzo  composed  his 
great  canzone  on  the  Battle  of  Monte  Aperti 
just  before  the  birth  of  Dante.  It  was  a  political 
satire  on  that  battle  when  the  Guelfs  of  Florence 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  105 

were  disastrously  defeated  by  the  Sienese  and 
King  Manfred's  cavaliers,  and  the  Ghibellines 
who  had  been  expelled  two  years  before  returned 
in  triumph.  Guittone,  like  Dante,  Brunetto 
Latini  and  Petrarca's  father,  was  a  Guelf  and 
he  laments  the  fallen  city  overturned  by  its  own 
sons  and  subjected  to  the  German  sword  and 
the  enemies  of  their  commune.  It  seems  heavy 
and  prosaic  to  us,  but  it  has  some  energy  as  he 
depicts  "Florence,  that  ever  reviving  flower," 
calling  in  her  enemies  and  conquered  by  force 
and  the  Sienese  when  she  ought  to  be  Queen  of 
Tuscany. 

All  of  these  early  versifiers  borrowed  phrases 
and  ideas  and  conventional  forms  of  speech  from 
the  Troubadours  of  Provence.  It  was  a  decided 
advance,  however,  on  the  former  custom  of 
writing  in  Provencal. 

Among  the  favourite  amusements  of  these 
singers  was  the  composition  of  tenzoni  in  which 
two  poets  are  represented  as  comparing  their 
lady-loves.  Thus  Dante  de  Maiano  (who  was 
born  near  Fiesole)  demands  of  Tommaso  da 
Faenza  an  answer  to  the  question:  "What  is 
the  greatest  pang  of  love?"  Another  favour- 
ite exercise  would  be  the  defence  of  some  such 


io6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

question  as  "Whether  it  is  wiser  to  court  a 
maiden  than  a  widow,"  and  this  would  be  con- 
ducted in  a  long  sequence  of  sonnets. 

As  a  general  thing  love  in  the  Middle  Ages 
had  nothing  to  do  with  maidenly  affections. 
It  may  be  imagined  that  a  country  which  even 
in  our  own  day  and  generation  tolerated  the 
strange  system  of  the  cavaliere  servente  — 
typified  in  Lord  Byron's  relations  with  the 
Countess  Guiccioli  —  was  even  less  strict  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  manage  de  convenance 
made  its  own  allowance  for  the  demands  of 
natural  passion  and  thus  one  of  the  strange 
phenomena  of  humanity  is  easily  and  naturally 
explained.  We  no  longer  wonder  at  Dante  or 
Petrarca  addressing  their  sonnets  to  ladies  hon- 
estly wedded  and  the  mothers  of  respectable 
families. 

The  artificiality  of  these  sonneteers  is  quite 
peculiar  and  deserves  mention  because  the  con- 
ventions affected  the  greatest  of  their  successors 
and  thus  had  an  influence  on  all  the  poetry  of 
the  modern  world.  Verbal  conceits  abound; 
quibbles  are  artfully  introduced.  Thus  the 
word  amore  which  means  love  is  of  malice  pre- 
pense confused  with  amaro,  which  means  bitter. 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  107 

In  the  same  way  Petrarca  rings  the  changes  on 
Vauray  the  breeze  and  lauro  the  laurel  and 
Laura,  the  fair  object  of  his  passion. 

Complications  of  internal  rhymes  also  attest 
the  ingenuity,  if  not  the  inspiration,  of  the  school 
of  Guittone,  as  for  example : 

Stmilemente  —  gente  —  cnatura 

La  portatura  —  pura  —  ed  awenente 

Faite  plagente  —  mente  —  per  natura 
Si  che  'n  altura  —  cura  —  volagente. 

These  difficult  and  complicated  rhyming 
schemes  are  called  in  Provencal  rims  cars  — 
dear  rhymes.  Alliterations,  repetitions,  verbal 
conceits,  naturally  led  to  affectation  of  far-fetched 
obscurity.  A  poet  devoted  to  such  filigree  work 
was  Arnaut  Daniel,  who  was  praised  by 
Dante  in  the  twenty  second  canto  of  the  "Pur- 
gatory" "  as  a  better  smith  of  the  maternal 
speech"  than  Guido  Guinicelli.  "In  love- 
verses  and  romantic  prose,"  Dante  makes 
Guido  say  —  in  versi  d'amore  e  prose  di  romanze 
soverchio  tutti  —  "he  surpassed  all,"  and  he  com- 
pliments him  by  writing  eight  lines  in  Provencal. 
Guittone  d'Arezzo  grew  more  and  more  ad- 
dicted to  this  metaphysical  and  obscure  style, 
until  it  became  almost  a  disease.  At  first  he 


io8          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

sang  of  love:  without  love  there  could  be  no 
excellence,  so  he  begs  love  to  enter  into  him  and 
inform  him.  He  urges  his  old  master  Bandino 
to  teach  him  the  secret.  But  suddenly  by  an 
impulse  not  at  all  uncommon  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  he  turns  from  human  love  to  love  divine. 
At  the  age  of  thirty-five  he  abandons  wife  and 
child,  accepting  literally  the  words  of  Scripture, 
enters  the  order  of  the  Cavalieri  di  Santa  Maria; 
he  condemns  his  former  life  and  his  own  sonnets 
and  canzoni  in  which  he  had  sung  of  love,  and 
gives  himself  up  to  dry  sermonising  on  the 
existence  of  God,  in  scholastic  language,  with 
which  he  mixes  citations  from  Aristotle  and 
Cicero,  Seneca  and  Boethius.  He  died  in  1294. 
These  earlier  poets  were  constantly  making 
experiments  in  poetic  forms  and  working  the 
sonnet  into  its  permanent  classic  shape.  The 
very  megatherium  of  verse  is  the  sonnetto  doppio, 
and  equally  uncouth  is  the  sonnetto  renterzato\ 
in  length  and  portentous  bulk  comes  the  ich- 
thyosaurus of  sonnets  consisting  of  four  quartlne 
and  three  terzine.  One  relic  of  those  antedi- 
luvian forms,  as  the  camel  and  elephant  are 
relics  of  prehistoric  fauna,  is  the  tailed  sonnet, 
one  example  of  which  was  left  by  Milton. 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  109 

Chiaro  Davanzati  had  some  skill  in  such 
conceits.  Thus,  in  one  of  his  dialogues  in  sonnet 
form  he  says:  "It  chanced  to  me  as  to  the  bird 
that  flies  away  and  comes  not  back.  In  the 
pasture  which  it  finds  delightful  it  dwells  and 
remains:  thus  my  heart  has  flown  to  thee."  A 
Japanese  poet-emperor  might  have  said  that. 

But  his  love  replies:  "I  deny  that  I  have  thy 
heart,  and,  if  I  had,  I  would  give  it  back  to  thee." 

In  another  sonnet  Chiaro  says:  "The  light 
or  sun  when  he  appears  resplendent  sends  bright- 
ness into  every  darkest  part;  such  virtue  hath 
his  gaze,  so  superior  to  all  other  is  his  splendour; 
so  doth  madonna  fill  with  joy  at  sight  of  her 
whoever  hath  a  pang." 

Dante  copies  the  same  pretty  conceit.  Chiaro 
Davanzati  fought  in  the  famous  battle  of  Monte 
Aperti  and  was  dead  in  1280:  that  is  nearly  all 
that  is  known  about  him. 

Hitherto,  in  Italian  verse  as  in  the  typical 
verse  of  the  Troubadours,  the  donna  — madonna 
to  use  the  sweet  Tuscan  word  —  is  an  abstrac- 
tion, or  at  least  a  painting  removed  from  the 
passions  of  the  every-day  world;  but  as  the 
transition  begins  we  find  a  more  realistic  state 
of  things.  Thus  in  the  canzoni  of  Compa- 


no         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

gnetto  da  Prato  we  catch  glimpses  of  women 
unhappily  wedded  and  pouring  out  their  com- 
plaints into  the  ears  of  their  lovers.  It  seems 
like  folk-poetry  in  many  cases,  and  certainly 
the  morality,  or  affectation  of  morality,  vanishes 
when  a  poem  represents  a  girl  complaining  that 
her  father  intends  to  marry  her  to  a  man  whom 
she  detests  and  her  lover  comforts  her  by  bidding 
her  unhesitatingly  to  take  the  hated  spouse  as 
so  many  others  do,  since  this  impediment  will 
not  prevent  their  loving  each  other  still  and 
being  happy: 

Assai    donne    mariti    anno 

Che  da  lor  son  forte  odiati 
De'  be'  sembtanti  lor  danno 

Pero  non  son  di  piu  amati 

Cost  voglio  che  tu  faccia 
Ed  avrai  molta  giota. 

In  other  cases  the  wife  is  represented  as 
earnestly  desirous  of  the  death  of  her  spouse: 
in  presence  of  others  she  would  weep  and  would 
even  wear  decent-appearing  weeds  of  mourning, 
but  secretly  she  would  rejoice;  like  the  young 
widow  who  went  into  the  parlour  where  lay  the 
cold  and  rigid  form  of  her  aged  millionaire  hus- 
band and  bending  over  the  coffin  was  heard  to 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  in 

exclaim:  "The  Lord  hath  given  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord." 

The  discovery  of  the  lost  works  of  Aristotle 
had  a  profound  influence  on  the  thought  of  the 
thirteenth  century;  this  was  speedily  shown  in 
the  productions  of  the  poets,  and  was  first 
shown  in  the  new  school  of  Bologna.  Guido 
Guinicelli  was  the  founder  of  this  sweet  new 
style  — dolce  stil  nuovo.  Dante  finds  him  in 
purgatory  and  speaks  of  him  as 

il  padre 

mio  e  degli  altri  miei  miglior  cbe  mat 
Rime  d'amore  usar  dolci  e  leggiadre, 

thus  confessing  his  indebtedness  to  him  for  the 
sweet  and  graceful  rhymes  of  love.  Guinicelli 
confesses  to  Dante  that  he  and  those  with  him  — 
too  numerous  to  call  by  name  —  had  sinned  by 
obeying  no  human  law,  by  following  their  appe- 
tites like  animals,  but  he  says: 

Son  Guido  Guinicelli  e  gia  mi  purgo 
Per  ben  dolermt  pnmo  ch'allo  stremo. 

Repentance  before  death  would  ultimately 
bring  about  his  redemption  and  Dante  confesses 
his  sorrow  when  he  hears  the  words  of  him  whom 
he  calls  father  of  himself  and  of  his  betters. 


ii2         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Then  Guinicelli  asks  Dante  why  in  speech 
and  look  he  held  him  dear.  Dante  replies: — 

li  dolci  detti  vostri, 
Che  quanta  durera  I'uso  moderno 
Far  anno  cari  ancora  iloro  inchiostri — 

"Your  sweet  ditties, which  as  long  as  the  modern 
fashion  shall  endure  will  make  dear  their 
manuscripts/' 

This  Guido  Guinicelli  was  of  a  noble  family  of 
Bologna,  but  almost  all  that  is  known  of  him  is 
that  he  died  in  1276.  He  was  a  disciple  of  Guit- 
tone,  whom  he  calls  caro  padre  mio.  At  first  he 
followed  the  style  of  the  Sicilian  school  and  in 
his  early  verses  are  seen  the  same  commonplaces, 
the  same  images  and  similitudes,  the  same 
vacuity  and  monotony.  But  when  he  outgrew 
the  old  idea  that  love  was  derived  from  the 
senses  and  exerted  his  force  through  the  eyes, 
he  established  a  loftier  ideal.  Love  has  his 
throne  only  in  the  noble  heart. 

Guido  Guinicelli  compares  the  search  of 
Love  for  a  home  in  some  generous  breast  to 
the  bird  seeking  amid  green  foliage  its  blessed 
nest.  To  him  nobility  of  heart  and  love  are 
as  inseparable  as  the  sun  and  its  splendour. 
Just  as  the  gem  when  purified  from  all  that 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  113 

contaminates  absorbs  the  virtue  of  the  sun, 
so  the  heart,  made  pure  and  noble,  is  inflamed 
by  sight  of  the  beloved  lady.  Here  seems  to 
be  the  origin  of  Dante's  flaming  heart  in  the 
"Vita  Nuova."  And  just  as  water  quenches 
flame,  so  all  impurity  puts  an  end  to  love. 

Again  madonna  becomes  the  abstract  com- 
pendium of  all  perfections  —  the  very  symbol 
and  incarnation  of  superior  qualities.  The 
impure  chivalrous  passion  of  the  Troubadours 
is  refined  into  a  spiritual  love. 

We  now  begin  to  meet  the  figure  of  the 
madonna  transmuted  into  an  angel  come  straight 
from  heaven.  Thus  Lapo  Gianni  sings: 

Angelica  figura  nuovamente 

Dal  del  venuta  a  spender  tua  salute, 

Tutta  la  sua  virtute 

Ha  in  te  locata  I 'alto  dio  d'Amore. 

This  rapid  survey  brings  us  directly  to  Dante 
who  had  the  manner  of  thought  of  his  prede- 
cessors and  the  same  theory  of  poetry,  the  same 
spiritualised  concept  of  love.  But  while  he 
uses  the  poetic  apparatus  of  Guittone  and 
Guinicelli,  he  rises  superior  to  them  by  his 
greater  genius,  his  more  powerful  imagination. 
Dante  reminds  one  of  Palestrina.  Just  as 


U4         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"the  Saviour  of  Music"  confined  himself  to 
the  strictest  laws  of  counterpoint  but  by  his 
spontaneous  invention  secured  effects  not 
dreamed  of  before,  so  Dante  excelled  all  his 
predecessors  and  eclipsed  them  as  the  sun 
quenches  the  light  of  the  morning  stars. 


ii 


In  passing  from  Dante  to  Petrarca  we  come 
into  another  world.  Dante  closes  an  era:  he 
is  the  Titan  of  Italian  poetry;  with  him  the 
mediaeval  is  summed  up  forever. 

Petrarca  is  as  modern  as  Chaucer.  Just  as 
in  midsummer,  sometimes,  a  few  days  of  genuine 
spring  weather  seem  to  stray  like  summer  birds 
from  their  exile  in  the  South,  as  if  impatient  to 
be  at  home  once  more,  so  we  find  simultaneously 
in  England  and  Italy  these  two  modern  men 
centuries  ahead  of  their  day.  How  gay,  un- 
sentimental, free  from  morbidness,  from  pro- 
vincialism is  Dan  Chaucer!  He  was  of  humble 
origin,  the  name  signifying  shoemaker,  and  yet 
he  rose  to  be  courted  by  kings  and  emperors  and 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  115 

one  of  his  descendants  just  missed  inheriting  the 
throne  of  England. 

So  Petrarca,  as  is  proved  by  the  name,  which 
means  Little  Peter  or  Peterkin,  sprang  from  the 
common  people.  His  father  was  Ser  Petracco 
di  Ser  Parenza  —  unable  even  to  boast  a  family 
name  —  and  when  he  was  driven  from  Florence 
by  that  miserable  squabble  between  the  two 
factions  that  were  always  tearing  the  vitals  of 
the  city,  he  carried  away  with  him  on  that 
January  day  in  1302  only  a  small  part  of  the 
possessions  which  he  had  accumulated  as  a 
jurist. 

The  misfortune  which  befell  Italy  had  been 
prognosticated.  In  September,  1301,  a  comet 
flamed  in  the  western  sky  and  twice  that  year 
Saturn  and  Mars  had  been  in  conjunction  in 
the  sign  of  the  Lion  which  was  the  astrological 
symbol  of  Italy.  Those  of  us  who  place  some 
reliance  on  astrological  prophecies,  looking  back, 
may  perhaps  see  in  that  comet  a  sign  of  the 
coming  poet,  who  should,  more  than  any 
other,  influence  the  world  of  letters. 

Ser  Patracco  took  refuge  in  Arezzo,  a  city  of 
Tuscany,  and  found  on  the  so-called  Garden 
Street  a  house,  as  the  poet  says,  hand  sane 


ii6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ampla  seu  magnified,  sed  qua! is  exsulem  de- 
cuisset — "  not  indeed  magnificent  but  suitable 
for  an  exile." 

On  Monday,  July  2Oth,  almost  at  the  very 
hour  when  the  Bianchi  were  making  their  last 
fruitless  effort  to  regain  the  ascendancy,  Fran- 
cesco di  Petracco  was  born.  Here  on  the 
fifteenth  of  June,  1800,  so  nearly  five  exact 
centuries  later,  Napoleon,  about  to  fight 
"Marengo's  bloody  battle,"  paused  to  grant, 
out  of  honour  to  Petrarca's  memory,  amnesty 
to  its  inhabitants. 

Petrarca's  life  lies  before  us  with  remarkable 
clearness.  Hundreds  of  letters  give  us  an 
almost  complete  autobiography;  but  it  has  been 
charged  against  him  that  he  was  ashamed  of 
his  humble  birth.  He  tells  us  little  about  his 
father's  family.  We  know  that  his  great- 
grandfather Ser  Garzo,  a  man  of  considerable 
native  wisdom,  though  uneducated,  lived  at 
Incisa  a  few  miles  from  Florence  and  died  at 
the  age  of  104  on  his  birth-day,  in  the  very  room 
where  he  had  been  born. 

Of  Petrarca's  mother  nothing  is  known  and 
the  Italian  biographers  are  still  struggling  over 
the  unsolved  problem  —  whether  her  name  was 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  117 

Eletta,  as  seems  to  be  indicated  in  his  poem  on 
her  death,  where  he  calls  her  Electa  Dei  tarn 
nomine  quam  re  —  in  that  case  making  her  a 
member  of  the  well-known  family  of  Cino 
Canigiani;  or  Nicolosa,  daughter  of  Vanni  Cini 
Sizoli,  or  whether  she  was  Petracco's  second 
wife  or  whether  she  was  only  sixteen  when  she 
gave  birth  to  her  famous  son  Francesco  — 
Cecco  as  they  called  him.  When  he  was  six 
months  old  he  went  with  his  mother  to  Incisa 
and  on  the  way  as  they  crossed  the  Arno  the 
horse  of  the  servant  who  was  carrying  him 
stumbled  and  the  baby  was  almost  drowned. 

At  Incisa  he  spent  the  first  six  or  seven  years 
of  his  life  and  it  is  generally  believed  that  he 
there  acquired  that  perfect  Tuscan  speech  which 
did  him  and  his  country  such  honour.  The 
house  where  he  dwelt  is  still  shown,  though 
badly  ruined,  and  it  bears  an  inscription  to  the 
effect  that  here  the  great  poet  first  uttered 
the  sweet  sounds  of  his  mother  tongue. 
In  1312  Petracco  assembled  his  family  in  Pisa 
but  perhaps  found  it  impossible  to  support 
them  there.  Like  many  other  banished  Floren- 
tines he  hoped  for  better  fortunes  in  France  and 
accordingly  took  his  family  to  Avignon. 


ii8         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  Pope,  Clement  V.,  was  wandering  about 
France  —  at  Bordeaux,  Lyons,  Poitiers,  Montpel- 
lier  and  Avignon,  and  in  October,  1316,  his  suc- 
cessor, John  XXII.  established  the  Papal  Court 
definitely  at  Avignon.  Hither  Petracco  came 
in  1313  and  a  second  time  the  son  nearly  lost 
his  life  in  a  shipwreck  near  Marseilles.  Avi- 
gnon, on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhone,  was  a  part  of 
Provence  and  at  this  time  Provence  was  the 
patrimony  of  King  Robert  of  Naples :  here  the 
king  had  his  court  from  1318  until  1324. 

The  influences  to  which  Petrarca  must  have 
submitted  in  this  transplantation  should  not  be 
disregarded.  Although  he  detested  Avignon 
itself  with  its  narrow  streets  and  vile  odours,  yet 
it  was  the  home  of  Proven£al  song  and  must 
have  given  him  his  first  leaning  to  poetry. 

Little  in  the  way  of  anecdote  can  be  told  of 
his  childhood.  An  astrologer  prophesied  that 
he  would  win  the  favour  of  almost  all  the  princes 
of  his  day,  and  this  was  fulfilled.  Also  he  him- 
self relates  in  one  of  his  letters  how  his  father 
showed  him  the  picture  of  a  double-bodied  boy 
with  twin  heads,  four  hands  and  other  curious 
prototypal  anticipations  of  the  Siamese  twins, 
that  had  been  born  in  Florence  and  lived  two 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  119 

or  three  weeks.  He  relates  that  his  father  gave 
his  ear  a  sharp  twitch  that  he  might  the  better 
remember  the  marvel. 

Expenses  were  high  in  Avignon  and  Petracco 
established  his  family  at  Carpentras,  the  capital 
of  a  little  province  where  were  mineral-springs 
and  a  quiet  easy  life.  Here  Petrarca  lived  four 
years  and  first  enjoyed  regular  schooling  at 
the  hands  of  a  scholar  named  Convennole  or 
Convenevole  who  had  a  school  there.  This 
Convennole  is  believed  by  some  to  be  the  author 
of  a  portentous  Latin  poem  of  very  mediocre 
value.  He  was  in  perpetual  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties and  Petrarca's  father  often  assisted  him, 
but  the  man  played  him  a  very  mean  trick.  In 
later  years  Petrarca  himself  came  to  his  aid  but 
his  generosity  was  likewise  most  shabbily 
acquitted:  he  took  two  priceless  manuscripts 
by  Cicero  and  disposed  of  them.  The  books 
must  have  been  destroyed,  for  no  trace  of  them 
was  ever  found  and  thus  were  lost  Cicero's 
Libri  de  Gloria. 

Nevertheless,  when  Convennole  died  at  Prato 
in  1340  or  1344  his  fellow-citizens  placed  a  poet's 
laurel  crown  on  his  tomb  and  Petrarca  offered 
to  write  his  epitaph. 


120         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  progress  which  Petrarca  made  in  his 
studies  was  not  remarkable  and  it  is  to  be  deeply 
regretted  that  a  more  liberally  cultured  scholar 
had  not  directed  his  training.  A  large  part 
of  Petrarca's  works  is  in  Latin  but  he  never 
acquired  a  perfect  style,  such  as  Erasmus  was 
able  to  wield.  His  Latin  is  mediaeval:  he 
himself  discovered  Cicero's  Epistles  but  it  was 
too  late  in  life  to  modify  his  habits.  Only  his 
inherent  genius  enabled  him  to  invest  his  Latin 
Letters  with  a  perennial  charm.  Certainly  his 
correspondence  with  Boccaccio  is  one  of  the 
most  precious  possessions  of  literature  and  it 
is  one  of  the  strange  anomalies  of  life  that  it 
so  long  has  remained  a  sealed  book  to  English 
readers. 

Petrarca's  principal  playmate  and  friend  in 
Convennole's  school  was  Guido  Settimo  who 
became  Archbishop  of  Genoa,  their  friendship 
enduring  more  than  fifty  years.  With  the 
future  archbishop  the  future  poet  made  his 
first  visit  to  the  source  of  the  Sorgue  at  Vaucluse 
or  Val  chiusa,  the  Shut-in  Valley  which  he  was 
to  immortalise. 

From  Carpentras  Petrarca  was  sent  to  the 
high  school  at  Montpellier  with  the  idea  of 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  121 

fitting  him  for  his  father's  profession  of  the 
law.  Here  he  spent  four  years  but  what  he 
studied,  or  what  his  experiences  were,  is  wholly 
unknown,  or  at  least  wholly  a  matter  of  conjecture 
mixed  with  imagination.  One  single  anecdote 
of  t/:s  time  is  preserved  in  Petrarca's  corre- 
spondence. His  father,  thinking  that  general 
literature  was  too  much  drawing  his  son's 
attention  away  from  the  law,  came  unexpectedly 
to  Montpellier,  and  making  a  thorough  search 
for  his  books  succeeded  in  finding  them,  care- 
fully hidden  though  they  had  been,  and  flung 
them  into  the  fire;  moved,  however,  by  his  son's 
bitter  tears  he  allowed  him  to  rescue  a  copy  of 
Vergil  and  Cicero's  "  Rhetoric." 

From  Montpellier  he  went  to  Bologna  in  1323 
with  his  brother  Gherardo  and  here  again  he  ne- 
glected the  lectures  on  civic  law  to  the  advantage 
of  what  are  called  "the  humanities."  He  also 
enjoyed  the  gaieties  of  a  student's  life  and  in  his 
later  days  liked  to  recall  them,  especially  as 
Bologna  was  at  this  time  free  from  the  distur- 
bances that  elsewhere  were  racking  the  Italian 
cities.  The  gates  of  the  town  were  not  closed  till 
late  at  night,  so  secure  felt  the  inhabitants,  and 
the  students  had  free  course.  With  one  of  his 


122         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

instructors  Petrarca  made  a  visit  to  Venice  and 
here  also  he  found  the  highest  tide  of  prosperity. 
Soon  both  cities  were  doomed  to  vail  their  glories. 

Among  his  many  friends  at  Bologna  was 
Giacomo  Colonna  who  afterwards  became 
Bishop  of  Lombes  and  gave  him  a  home. 

Petracco  died  in  1326,  leaving  his  family  in 
deep  poverty,  and  the  two  sons  returned  to 
Avignon.  Petrarca's  only  legacy  was  a  manu- 
script of  Cicero.  With  this,  the  profession  of 
the  law,  none  too  enticing  to  him  in  any  cir- 
cumstances, seemed  to  be  out  of  the  question 
and  as  the  Church  offered  greater  inducements 
and  especially  as  his  friend  Colonna  was  already 
on  the  road  to  high  preferment,  he  decided  to 
adopt  this  profession. 

On  the  sixth  of  April,  1327,  almost  a  year  after 
his  father's  death  and  not  long  after  the  probable 
death  of  his  mother,  Petrarca  saw  in  the  church  of 
Santa  Chiara  at  Avignon  for  the  first  time  the  lady 
whom  he  celebrated  under  the  name  of  Laura. 

Who  was  she  ? 

This  question  has  been  a  puzzle  for  two 
centuries  and  seems  to  offer  no  chance  of  satis- 
factory solution.  Opinions  have  varied  in  the 
widest  way.  Some  scholars  have  argued  that 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  123 

the  lady  who  inspired  Petrarca's  muse  to  such 
lofty  flights  of  song  was  only  a  creature  of  his 
imagination;  others,  including  Korting,  give 
a  certain  amount  of  credence  to  the  ingenious 
though  somewhat  sophisticated  evidence  of  the 
clever  Abbe  de  Sade,  who  elaborately  argued 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Audibert  de  Noves 
and  that  she  was  born  in  1307,  that  she  was 
wedded  to  Hugh  de  Sade,  the  Abbe's  ancestor, 
and  bore  him  eleven  children.  A  tomb  at 
Avignon  was  opened  in  1533  and  in  the  coffin 
were  found  a  medal  and  a  sonnet.  The  sonnet 
was  supposed  to  be  Petrarca's  though  it  was 
hardly  worthy  of  his  fame.  On  the  rfledal 
were  the  initials  "  M.  L.  M.  I."  which  were 
interpreted  to  mean  Madonna  Laura  morta 
tacit  — "  Here  lies  the  body  of  Madonna 
Laura." 

This  discovery  was  in  accordance  with  an  old 
tradition  that  Laura  was  a  De  Sade.  The 
Abbe  Costaing  of  Pusignan  believed  that  she 
was  Laura  des  Beaux,  the  daughter  of  the 
Seigneur  de  Vaucluse  Adhemar  de  Cavaillon,  on 
her  mother's  side  descended  from  the  house 
of  Orange  and  that  she  lived  with  her  relatives 
on  her  estates  of  Galas  on  the  hills  overlooking 


I24         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  valley,  and  that  she  died  not  of  the  plague 
but  of  a  consumption. 

There  is  no  phase  of  this  famous  passion  that 
has  not  been  made  the  subject  of  an  essay  or  a 
poem. 

Was  she  a  widow  or  a  maiden  or  the  mother 
of  a  patriarchal  family  ?  Was  Petrarca's  de- 
scription of  her  beauty  based  on  the  reality  or 
is  it  an  ideal  figment  of  his  imagination  ?  Was 
she  a  heartless  coquette  as  was  believed  by  Ma- 
caulay  ?  Would  Petrarca  have  written  a  fuller 
and  more  perfect  book  of  songs  had  she  been 
perfectly  complacent  ?  So  the  learned  Pro- 
fessor Zendrini  argues.  Was  Laura  an  am- 
bitious woman  caring  for  nothing  but  her  own 
praise  and  cold  to  Petrarca  not  by  reason  of 
virtue  but  because  of  her  insensibility  ? 

A  hundred  similar  questions  arise,  and  how 
idle  they  are!  Only  one  of  them  we  may  answer 
and  that  in  the  poet's  own  words.  Some  one  of 
his  friends  had  evidently  suggested  that  his 
complaints  were  imaginary  and  his  Laura  a 
being  of  air,  as  the  name  implies.  He  answered 
as  follows : 

"What  dost  thou  mean  by  saying  that  I 
have  invented  the  specious  name  of  L'Aura  as 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  125 

if  I  wished  to  have  something  to  talk  about; 
that  Laura  is  in  reality  nothing  but  a  poetic 
fiction  of  my  mind  to  which  long  and  unremit- 
ting study  proves  that  I  have  been  aspiring;  but 
that  of  this  breathing  Laura  by  whose  form  and 
beauty  I  seem  to  be  a  captive  taken  is  all  manu- 
factured, verses  fictitious,  sighs  simulated  ? 
Would  that  in  this  respect  thou  wert  jesting  in 
earnest!  Would  that  it  were  simulatio  and 
not  furor.  But  believe  me,  no  one  without 
great  effort  can  long  use  simulations  but  to 
struggle  vainly  to  appear  mad  is  the  height  of 
madness  [summa  insania].  Moreover  while 
we  may  succeed  in  counterfeiting  illness  by  our 
actions,  we  can  not  imitate  pallor"  —  tibi  pallor 
tibi  labor  meus  notus  est. 

There  are  several  passages  in  Petrarca's 
Latin  writings  where  he  makes  it  evident  that 
Laura  was  an  actual  person.  One  is  in  the 
treatise  concerning  Scorn  of  this  World  in  which 
he  represents  himself  at  the  instigation  of  Truth, 
who  appears  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  stately 
virgin,  as  holding  a  three  days'  conversation 
with  his  beloved  instructor  Saint  Augustine. 
In  the  third  dialogue  Saint  Augustine  points 
out  that  Petrarca  is  held  in  the  chains  of  two 


iz6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

passions  which  keep  him  from  the  true  contem- 
plation of  life  and  of  death:  these  are  love  and 
Glory.  Augustine  expresses  his  surprise  that 
a  man  of  Petrarca's  talent  should  spend  so  large 
a  part  of  his  life  in  praise  of  an  earthly  love; 
and  he  predicts  that  the  time  will  come  when  he 
will  feel  ashamed  of  himself  and  of  this  passion. 

Petrarca  replies  that  he  has  already,  even 
during  her  life  time,  written  a  sonnet  on  her 
approaching  death,  having  seen  her  once  beauti- 
ful body  exhausted  by  illnesses  and  frequent  — 
what?  Here  is  one  of  the  mysteries;  in  the 
manuscript  the  word  is,  as  usual,  contracted 
and  reads  ptbus,  which  De  Sade  thinks  stands 
for  partubus  —  frequent  child-bearing;  while 
other  manuscripts  have  the  word  spelled  out: 
— pertubationibus.  If  she  was  the  mother  of 
eleven  children,  De  Sade  would  seem  to  have 
reason  on  his  side. 

Petrarca  goes  on  to  assure  Saint  Augustine 
that  in  his  Laura  he  had  worshipped  not  the 
mortal  body  but  the  immortal  soul  and  that 
even  if  she  should  die  before  he  did,  he  would 
still  love  her  virtue  and  her  spirit.  Saint 
Augustine  objects  that  though  she  be  perfect  as 
a  goddess,  yet  even  that  which  is  most  beautiful 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  127 

may  be  loved  shamefully  —  turpiter;  but  Pe- 
trarca  asseverates  the  purity  of  his  passion  and 
declares  that  in  nothing  but  its  impetuosity 
was  he  guilty  before  her:  that  she  was  the 
source  and  origin  of  all  his  glory;  she  had  nur- 
tured the  feeble  germ  of  virtue  in  his  breast; 
she  was  the  mirror  of  perfection  and  love  has 
the  power  to  transmute  the  lover  into  the  stan- 
dard of  the  object  loved. 

But  Saint  Augustine  is  not  satisfied :  he  points 
out  the  danger  of  deception  and  thinks  that  the 
fact  that  he  has  loved  his  love  so  exclusively 
has  caused  him  to  scorn  other  human  beings  and 
human  interests.  Earthly  love  has  turned 
Petrarca  from  the  heavenly  and  into  the  straight 
road  to  death. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  Saint  Augus- 
tine brings  Petrarca  to  confess  that  he  has 
carried  next  his  heart  a  portrait  of  his  Laura 
and  that  even  the  laurel  wreath  is  dear  to  him 
only  because  it  brings  the  echo  of  her  name. 
And  when  Petrarca  asks  Saint  Augustine  what 
he  can  do  to  be  saved  from  such  a  dangerous 
passion,  the  Saint  recommends  change  of  scene. 

"Alas,"  replies  the  poet,  "in  vain  have  I 
wandered  West  and  North,  far  and  long,  even  to 


i28         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  shores  of  the  Deep, and  like  the  wounded  stag 
carried  my  wound  with  me  wherever  I  went." 
Augustine  recommends  Italy  and  here  occurs 
his  justly  famed  magnificent  eulogium  of  that 
beauteous  land.  This  leads  naturally  to  the 
other  chain  —  glory. 

The  second  passage  occurs  in  a  poetic  epistle 
to  Giacomo  Colonna,  written  probably  in 
August  1337,  two  days  after  returning  to  Avi- 
gnon after  a  long  journey: 

"  Beloved  beyond  measure  is  a  woman  known 
by  her  virtue  and  her  ancient  lineage  — san- 
guine vetusto.  And  my  songs  have  given  her 
glory  and  spread  her  fame  far  and  wide.  Ever 
does  my  heart  turn  back  to  her  and  with  renewed 
pangs  of  love  she  overcomes  me  nor  does  it 
seem  likely  that  she  will  ever  renounce  her 
conquest." 

She  had  conquered  him  he  says  not  by  any 
arts  of  coquetry  but  by  the  rare  beauty  of  her 
form.  After  enduring  the  chain  for  ten  years, 
after  wasting  to  a  shadow  and  becoming  another 
man,  the  fever  of  love  so  penetrating  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones  that  he  could  hardly  drag 
one  leg  after  another  and  he  yearned  for  death, 
suddenly  he  determined  to  strike  for  freedom 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  129 

and  shake  off  the  yoke.  God  gave  him  strength 
to  win  the  battle;  but  even  then  the  mistress 
of  his  heart  pursued  him  as  if  he  were  an  es- 
caped slave. 

"  I  fly, "  he  says,  "  I  wander  over  the  whole 
circle  of  the  world,  I  dare  to  plough  the  stormy 
billows  of  the  Adriatic  and  the  Tyrrhene  sea.s 
and  I  entrust  my  life,  rescued  from  the  toils  of 
love,  to  a  tossing  vessel:  for  why  should  I, 
wearied  by  the  torments  of  the  soul,  and  sick  of 
life,  fear  a  premature  death  ?  I  turn  my  steps 
toward  the  West  and  behold  the  lofty  summits 
of  the  Pyrenees  from  my  couch  in  the  sunny 
grass.  I  behold  the  ocean  from  where  the 
weary  God  of  Day,  after  his  long  journey,  dips 
his  chariot  of  fire  in  the  Hesperian  flood  and 
where  looking  up  to  Atlas  turned  to  stone  at 
sight  of  Medusa,  he  causes  the  steep  mountain 
precipices  to  throw  long  shadows,  and  hides  the 
moors  with  hastening  shades  of  night.  Hence 
I  turn  to  the  North  and  Boreas,  and,  lonely, 
wander  through  those  lands  that  are  filled  with 
the  harsh  accents  of  barbarians'  tongues,  where 
the  gloomy  waves  of  the  British  sea  splash  with 
changeful  foam  the  shores  of  half-known  coasts 
and  where  the  icy  soil  denies  obedience  to  the 


130         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

friendly  plough  and  keeps  the  vine-stock  alien  to 
the  hills.  Little  by  little  as  I  journeyed,  the 
billows  of  my  passion  grew  calm:  pain,  wrath 
and  fear  began  to  vanish;  now  and  then  peace- 
ful slumber  closed  my  eyelids  moist  with  tears, 
and  an  unaccustomed  smile  played  over  my 
face;  and  already  in  my  recollection  with  less 
of  threat  and  less  of  authority  arose  the  image  of 
my  deserted  love." 

Alas,  he  goes  on,  he  was  deceived ;  he  thought 
he  might  disregard  the  sting  of  passion;  the 
wound  was  not  healed,  the  anguish  was  not 
allayed.  He  returned,  but  no  sooner  was  he 
within  the  walls  of  the  beloved  city  than  his 
breast  was  again  laden  with  the  burden  of  cares. 
And  then  follows  that  superb  description  not 
dimmed  even  in  the  Latin  in  which  it  is  couched : 

"The  sailor  fears  not  with  such  terror  the 
reefs  as  he  sails  through  the  night,  as  I  now  fear 
my  love's  face  and  her  heart-stirring  words, 
her  head  crowned  with  golden  tresses  and  her 
snowy  neck  encircled  with  a  chain  and  her  eyes 
dealing  sweet  death." 

Even  in  the  secluded  vale  of  Vaucluse  he 
finds  no  relief:  Useless  to  bewail  the  vanished 
years.  Waking  he  sees  her  and  at  night  her 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  131 

image  seems  to  come  through  the  triple-locked 
doors  of  his  chamber  at  midnight  and  claim  him 
as  her  slave.  Then  before  the  morning  paints 
with  crimson  the  eastern  sky,  he  arises  and 
leaves  the  house  and  wanders  over  mountain 
and  through  forest,  ever  on  the  watch  to  see  if 
she  is  not  there. 

"Oft,"  he  says,  "when  I  think  I  am  alone  in 
the  pathless  woods,  the  bushes  waving  in  the 
breeze  present  her  figure  and  I  see  her  face  in  the 
bole  of  the  lonely  oak;  her  image  rises  from  the 
waters  of  the  spring;  I  seem  to  see  her  in  the 
clouds,  in  the  empty  air  and  even  in  the  adaman- 
tine stone." 

To  the  celebration  of  this  love  he  consecrates 
291  sonnets,  twenty-four  canzoni,  nine  sestini, 
seven  ballata  and  four  madrigals,  besides  the 
semi-epic  poem  written  in  terza  rima  like  the 
"Divina  Commedia."  In  these  sonnets — which 
are  curious  in  this  respect  that  they  are  not  a 
sequence,  they  mark  no  progression:  they  are 
like  a  placid  lake,  not  a  river  —  Petrarca  cele- 
brates his  love  in  every  way.  Every  little 
event  inspires  a  poem.  Once  he  sees  her  about 
to  cross  a  stream  and  the  removal  of  her  white 
shoes  and  red  stockings  leads  to  a  sonnet.  Her 


i32         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

beauty  is  ever  the  thought  in  his  mind:  both  in 
Italian  and  Latin  he  tells  us: 

Una  donna  piu  bella  che  'I  sole, 
forman  parem  non  ulla  videbunt  saecula  — 

"  A  woman  lovelier   than  the  sun,  whose  form 
no  century  will  ever  see  equalled." 
And  again  of  her  gait  and  voice: 

non  era  I'andar  suo  cosa  mortaley 
ma  a" 'angelica  forma  e  le  parole 
sonavan  altro  che  pur  voce  umana  — 

"Her  gait  was  not  a  mortal  thing  but  of  an 
angelic  form  and  her  words  sounded  different 
from  any  human  voice:" 

cuius  nee  vox  nee  oculorum  vigor 
nee     incessus     hominem     repraesentat. 

A  few  of  the  lovely  passages  —  which  alas !  even 
in  a  paraphrase  must  lose  much  of  their  charm — 
must  furnish  a  hint  of  the  richness  of  this  col- 
lection of  poems  which  Guiseppe  Jacopo  Fer- 
razzi  calls  the  bible  of  poets  and  which  is  by 
most  critics  considered  "the  most  perfect  monu- 
ment of  love-poetry  among  modern  nations." 

Her  name,  he  says  in  the  fifth  sonnet,  which 
is  devoted  to  an  elaborate  pun  upon  it  —  Lau- 
re-ta  and  Lau-re  —  was  written  on  his  heart  by 
love.  He  sends  her  some  fruit  in  spring  and 
the  thought  that  the  sun  has  ripened  it  causes 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  133 

him  to  call  her  "  a  sun  among  women"  —  tra 
le  donne  un  sole  — which  shedding  the  rays  of  her 
bright  eyes  upon  him  wakes  into  life  the  thoughts, 
acts  and  words  of  love.  But  he  concludes  sadly 
that  though  spring  may  shine  on  earth  again 
there  will  never  be  spring  again  for  him.  Most 
beautiful  is  the  beginning  of  the  second  canzone 

Verdi  panni,  sangutm,  oscurt  o  persi  — 

excellently  translated  by  Miss  Louise  Winslow 
Kidder: 

Green  robes,  blood-coloured,  dark  or  reddish  black 
Or  golden  hair  in  shining  tresses  heaped, 
Ne'er  clothed  a  woman  beautiful  as  she 
Who  robs  me  of  my  will,  and  with  herself 
Allures  me  from  the  path  of  liberty, 
So  that  no  other  servitude  less  grave 
Do  I  endure. 

In  this  canzone  there  are  eight  stanzas  of  seven 
lines  each  and  a  sort  of  coda  of  two  lines,  there 
being  only  seven  rhymes  in  the  whole  poem. 
In  the  sestine  are  no  rhymes,  but  each  stanza 
of  six  lines  has  the  same  word  endings.  In  the 
third  canzone  he  speaks  of  her  beautiful  soft 
eyes  which  carry  the  keys  to  his  sweet  thoughts: 

Que'   begli  occbi  soavi 
Che  portaron  le  chtavt 
De'  miei  dolci  pensier. 

And  further  on  he  speaks  of  the  golden  tresses 


i34         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

which  should  make  the  sun  full  of  deep  envy 
and  her  beautiful  calm  look  —  bel  guardo 
sereno  —  where  the  rays  of  Love  are  so  warm, 
and  still  recalling  her  graces,  her  white  delicate 
hands  and  lovely  arms  — 

le   man    bianchi   sottili 
e  le  braccia  gentili. 

All  very  well  translated  by  Macgregor: 

The  soft  hands,  snowy  charm, 

The  finely  rounded  arm, 

The  winning  way,  by  turns,  that  quiet  scorn. 

He  renders  the  lines 

/  dolct  sdegm  alteramente  umili 
e  '/  bel  giovenil  petto 
torre  J'alto  intelletto 

Chaste  anger,  proud  humility  adorn 
The  fair  young  breast  that  shrined 
Intellect  pure  and  high. 

Wotton  translates  the  lines: 

L'oro  e  le  perle  e  i  fior  vermigli  e  i  bianchi 
Che  'I  verno  devna  far  languidi  e  secchi: 

Those  golden  tresses,  teeth  of  pearly  white, 
Those  cheeks'  fair  roses  blooming  to  decay. 

But  it  very  well  illustrates  the  danger  one  runs 
in  reading  translations:  the  gold  and  pearls 
and  red  and  white  flowers  are  the  adornments 
which  Laura  wears  and  which  are  reflected  in  the 
mirror  against  which  he  complains  because  in 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  135 

seeing   herself  reflected   there   she   cares   more 
for  herself  than  for  him. 

Particularly  beautiful  is  the  sonnet  in  which 
he  blesses  all  the  circumstances  of  his  passion: 

Benedetto  sta  V  giorno,  e  V  me se  e  '/  anno 
E  la  stagione  e  V  tempo  e  I  'ora  e  '/  punto 
E  'I  bel  paese  e  V  loco  ov'  to  fut  giunto 

Da  duo  beglt  occhi. 

This  translated  literally  reads: 

"Blest  be  the  day  and  the  month  and  the 
year  and  the  season  and  the  time  and  the  hour 
and  the  instant  and  the  fair  country  and  the 
place  where  I  was  captured  by  two  lovely  eyes 
that  enchained  me  fast."  And  the  sonnet  pro- 
ceeds: "And  blest  be  the  first  sweet  inquietude 
[affanno]  that  I  felt  at  being  joined  with 
love,  and  the  bow  and  arrows  whereby  I  was 
wounded  and  the  wounds  that  came  into  my 
heart.  Blest  be  the  voices  which  calling  out 
the  name  of  my  lady,  I  scattered;  and  the  sighs 
and  the  desire;  and  blest  be  all  the  writings 
whereby  I  won  my  fame  and  my  thought  which  is 
wholly  of  her,  so  that  no  other  has  a  share  in  it." 

After  eleven  years  of  perduti  giorni,  since  that 
"fierce  passion's  strong  entanglement"  (as 
Dacre  translates  the  line)  he  calls  upon  the 


136         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Father  of  Heaven  to  vouchsafe  unto  him  power 
to  turn  to  a  different  life  and  to  finer  achievements 

ad  altra  vita  ed  a  piu  belle  imprese. 

But  still  the  charm  holds:  even  if  he  would 
forget  her  the  sight  of  the  green  laurel-tree 
brings  her  so  vividly  before  him  that  amid  the 
oaks  and  pines  on  the  shore  of  the  Tuscan  sea 
where  the  waves  broken  by  the  winds  complain, 
he  falls  as  it  were  dead;  even  after  fourteen 
years  have  passed  he  still  sings  her  golden  locks 
flowing  in  mazy  ringlets  to  the  breeze  —  capelll 
d'oro  a  I'aura  sparsi. 

Leigh  Hunt  has  a  good  translation  of  the 
canzone  to  the  Fountain  of  Vaucluse  beginning: 
Chiare,  fresche  e  dolci  acque  — 

Clear,  fresh  and  dulcet  streams 

Which  the  fair  shape  who  seems 

To  me  sole  woman  haunted  at  noon-tide. 

Fair  bough,  so  gently  fit 

(I  sigh  to  think  of  it) 

Which  lent  a  pillar  to  her  lovely  side 

And  turf  and  flowers  bright-eyed 

O'er  which  her  folded  gown 

Flowed   like   an   angel's   down, 

Give  ear,  give  ear  with  one  consenting 

To  my  last  words,  my  last  and  my  lamenting. 

Of  Petrarca's  later  life  there  are  a  thousand 
fascinating  details  to  be  found  in  his  letters: 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  137 

his  travels,  friendships,  with  all  the  great  men 
of  his  day,  his  relations  with  popes  and  prelates, 
princes  and  emperors,  his  clever  intrigues  to 
obtain  the  poet's  laurel  crown,  his  studies,  his 
efforts  to  collect  the  first  private  library  of 
modern  times,  his  residences,  as  for  instance 
in  the  Magician's  house  at  Selva  Piana,  or  at 
Venice  at  the  house  of  Arrigo  Molin,  from  one 
of  the  turrets  of  which  he  used  to  watch  the 
ships,  or  again  on  the  beautiful  Euganean  Hills. 

Nor  must  we  forget  his  cat  which,  as  Tasoni 
says,  still  unburied  —  un  insepolta  gatta  — 
"conquers  in  glory  the  tombs  of  haughty  kings." 
A  whole  chapter  should  be  devoted  to  his  beau- 
tiful friendship  with  Boccaccio  and  how  one  of 
his  last  works  was  to  translate  into  Latin  the 
story  of  the  Patient  Griselda  which  Chaucer 
put  into  verse. 

A  few  cardinal  dates  will  serve  on  which  to 
hang  the  more  important  events  of  the  latter  half 
of  his  life:  In  1339  he  began  his  Latin  poem 
"Africa,"  the  hero  of  which  was  Scipio:  it  waited 
more  than  half  a  millennium  to  be  published. 
The  next  two  years  he  was  busy  with  his  growing 
glory  and  waiting  to  be  crowned  at  the  Capitol. 

After  several  years'  residence  at   Parma  he 


138         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

was  made  canon  and  in  1348  while  residing  at 
Verona  came  the  sad  news  of  Laura's  death. 
Henceforth  his  sonnets,  though  retrospective 
and  often  inspired  by  memory  of  her  beauty 
become  an  ascending  scale  until  in  the  "Trionfi" 
they  rival  the  more  spiritualised  poems  of  Dante, 
Laura  being  personified  as  Chastity  triumphant. 

In  1350  he  was  appointed  archdeacon  of 
Parma  and  the  following  year  the  Florentines 
decreed  the  restoration  of  his  property,  but  when 
he  refused  to  live  there  they  confiscated  it  again. 
In  1360  he  was  sent  as  an  ambassador  to  King 
Jean  of  France  and  then  settled  in  Venice,  where 
he  lived  another  decade  and  then  retired  to 
Arqua  among  the  Euganean  Hills,  where,  in 
1374,  on  the  eighteenth  of  July,  he  was  found 
dead  at  his  table.  A  magnificent  funeral  was 
decreed  in  his  honour  as  became  so  great  an 
ornament  to  Italy.  In  1873  his  tomb  was 
opened.  His  skull  and  bones  were  at  first  intact 
but  on  exposure  to  the  air  speedily  fell  to  dust. 

This  great  man  becomes  even  greater  on 
close  study:  he  is  chiefly  known  as  the  author 
of  love-poems  which  in  a  dissolute  age  are 
absolutely  pure  and  in  such  perfect  Italian  that 
the  taste  of  the  most  refined  and  exacting  would 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  139 

change  scarcely  a  word.  Although  these  grace- 
ful lavorietti  composed  of  equal  parts  of  serenity, 
brightness  of  touch  and  absolute  perfection  of 
imagery,  are  so  spontaneous  in  Italian  and  so 
impossible  to  translate  into  English — wilting 
(as  has  been  well  said  by  an  Italian  scholar) 
when  transferred  into  alien  soil  —  yet  all  poets 
who  know  Italian  have  tried  their  hand  at  them. 
The  latest  attempt,  by  a  California  lady  who 
published  her  version*  in  London,  is  sheer  para- 
phrase: the  simplicity  and  directness  of  the 
original  appear  in  an  extraordinarily  imagina- 
tive overlaying  of  filagree  and  arabesque.  A 
word  or  a  hint  is  enlarged  to  an  elaborate  com- 
parison; a  thousand  poetic  images  and  conceits 
which  Petrarca  never  dreamed  of  are  introduced, 
and  yet  the  work  has  been  widely  heralded  as  a 
masterpiece  of  translation.  It  was  certainly 
inspired  by  Petrarca,  but  if  one  compares  the 
version  with  the  original,  the  enormous  gulf 
between  them  will  become  at  once  apparent. 
They  were  turned  into  Polish  by  Ian  Grot- 
kowski  as  early  as  1465.  Spanish,  German  and 
French  poets  —  all  have  drunk  at  the  fountain 
of  this  Parnassus.  In  1520  there  was  a  Petrarca 

*  "Madonna  Laura."       Agnes  Tobin,  1907. 


140         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Academy  at  Venice.  loost  van  Vondel,  the 
greatest  of  the  classic  Dutch  poets  and  the 
master  of  Milton,  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Arqua 
and  set  Petrarca  above  all  other  poets.  Boccaccio 
in  1374  two  hundred  years  earlier  had  predicted 
that  Arqua,  a  village  scarcely  known  even  in 
Padua,  would  rise  famous  in  the  whole  world : 
men  in  days  to  come  would  make  pilgrimages 
to  it.  His  prediction  was  amply  verified. 

There  are  at  least  two  score  commentaries  on 
Petrarca 's  Italian  poems  which  he  himself  regret- 
ted and  repented  having  written.  According  to 
Crescenbini  there  were  more  than  six  hundred  son- 
netteers  in  the  sixteenth  century  all  imitating  Pet- 
rarca: no  less  than  twelve  at  once  in  Venice.  Marco 
Foscarini  prepared  for  the  press  the  Rime  of  sixty 
Venetian  gentlemen,  all  disciples  of  Laura's  lover. 

On  the  fifth  centenary  of  his  birth,  prizes 
being  offered,  more  than  six  hundred  responses 
in  French  and  Provencal  were  submitted. 

But  he  was  not  merely  a  poet,  he  was  also 
great  as  an  orator,  as  a  scholar,  as  a  philosopher. 
The  more  we  study  his  career  the  more  we  must 
marvel  at  its  richness  in  accomplishment.  Ugo 
Foscolo  calls  him  the  restorer  of  letters.  He 
was  the  promoter  of  classic  literature.  "For 


LYRIC  POETRY  AND  PETRARCA  141 

us  and  for  all  Europe,"  says  Carducci,  "  Petrarca 
was  above  all  the  recreator  of  glorious  antiquity 
and  the  leader  who  through  the  desert  of  the 
Middle  Ages  freed  our  people  from  the  slavery 
of  barbarous  peoples." 

Professor  Domenico  Berti  calls  him  at  once 
poet,  historian,  philosopher,  scholar  and  cul- 
tivator of  the  fine  arts  and  speaks  of  his  fine, 
exquisite,  full,  robust  genius  and  his  noble  soul. 

He  was  also  the  prophet  of  United  Italy. 
When  Cola  di  Rienzi  engaged  in  his  great  but 
futile  struggle  to  restore  to  Rome  her  ancient 
liberty  Petrarca  actively  sympathised  with  him 
and  wrote  to  him  one  of  his  noblest  canzoni 
beginning 

Spirto  gentil  che  quelli  membra  reggi, 

and  that  which  begins  "Italia  mia  "  praised  by  all 
critics  and  commentators  and  called  the  Mar- 
seillaise of  Italy,  as  fresh  and  animated  and  full 
of  sparkling  enthusiasm  to-day  as  if  written  only 
yesterday.  It  may  be  read  in  Lady  Dacre's  spir- 
ited version.  No  wonder  the  Austrian  authorities, 
when  they  were  making  their  desperate  efforts  to 
keep  Italy  dismembered  and  enslaved,  forbade 
its  use  in  the  gymnasia,  for  it  well  might  kindle 
generous  souls  to  patriotic  hatred  of  tyranny. 


IV 

BOCCACCIO   AND   THE    NOVELLA 
I. 

"VjOTHING  can  be  more  unsatisfactory  as 
a  means  of  conversation  than  an  aften.oon 
tea  as  it  is  usually  disposed.  Interruption 
is  the  certain  concomitant  of  every  attempt  to 
carry  on  any  serious  train  of  thought.  One's 
best  anecdote  is  broken  off  just  as  the  point 
begins  to  appear;  the  fuse  of  one's  liveliest 
epigram  is  nipped  in  the  bud  before  it  has  an 
opportunity  to  explode.  The  unnatural  sound 
of  high-pitched  voices  commingling  may  indeed 
remind  the  observer  of  nature  —  for  there  is  a 
curious  and  subtle  relationship  between  this 
most  artificial  and  hot-house  product  of  civilisa- 
tion and  that  wild  unchained  creature  of  life 
—  a  mountain-brook.  As  you  stand  at  the 
door  of  a  modern  drawing-room,  you  hear  gur- 
gles and  musical  intonations:  shut  your  eyes 
and  you  may  transport  yourself  in  imagination 
to  the  mossy  bank  of  your  favourite  stream.  You 
can  see  the  foamy  little  cascades  and  the  bell- 
142 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  143 

like  voices  of  the  waters  as  they  hurry  down 
over  glittering  stones  and  fallen  logs.  Or  stand 
by  that  same  brook  and  shut  your  eyes  and  you 
can  imagine  yourself  in  the  full  swing  of  a  well- 
attended  reception.  But  however  much  talk 
there  may  be  at  such  a  function  there  is  no  con- 
versation. That  fine  art  has  not  died,  but  it  is 
rare  to  meet  with  it  in  these  hurried  days.  Per- 
haps enjoyment  may  be  just  as  great,  but  it  is 
of  a  different  kind.  It  is  of  a  piece  with  pre- 
digested  foods  and  predigested  journals  and  p  re- 
digested  "libraries  of  literature." 

The  Italians  of  the  fourteenth  century  had 
a  more  dignified  mode  of  society  entertainment. 
The  ladies  and  gentlemen  that  gathered  in  the 
salon  of  the  court  or  in  the  shady  garden  orga- 
nised what  they  called  una  lieta  brigata  —  a 
happy  jolly,  merry,  jocund  band — and  appointed 
a  captain  or  it  might  be,  a  queen  who  should  give 
them  a  theme  and  call  upon  one  after  another  of 
the  company  to  illustrate  it  with  stories.  Such 
themes  as  "The  magnanimity  of  princes,"  "Con- 
cerning those  that  have  been  fortunate  in  love," 
"Sudden  changes  from  prosperity  to  misfor- 
tune," "The  guiles  that  women  have  practised 
on  their  husbands"  and  the  like  were  common. 


i44         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

This  was  the  origin  of  the  so-called  novella. 
Symonds  says: 

"The  novella  is  invariably  brief  and  sketchy. 
It  does  not  aim  at  presenting  a  detailed  picture 
of  human  life  within  certain  artistically  chosen 
limitations,  but  confines  itself  to  a  striking 
situation  or  tells  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  some 
moral  quality." 

He  goes  on  to  show  how  the  fact  that  these 
novelle  were  either  read  aloud  or  improvised 
on  the  spur  of  the  occasion  "determined  the 
length  and  ruled  the  mechanism"  of  them. 
"It  was  impossible,"  he  says,  "within  the  short 
space  of  a  spoken  tale  to  attempt  any  minute 
analysis  of  character  or  to  weave  the  meshes  of 
a  complicated  plot.  The  narrator  went  straight 
to  his  object,  which  was  to  arrest  the  attention, 
gratify  the  sensual  instincts  or  stir  the  tender 
emotions  of  his  audience  by  some  fantastic, 
extraordinary,  voluptuous,  comic  or  pathetic 
incident.  He  sketches  his  personages  with 
a  few  swift  touches,  set  forth  with  pungent 
brevity  and  expends  his  force  upon  the  painting 
of  their  central  motive." 

All  of  this  is  set  forth  with  much  care  in  the 
second  chapter  of  his  "  Renaissance  in  Italy, " 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  145 

where  he  explains  further  that  the  sole  object 
of  the  novella  was  entertainment  and  where  he 
illustrates  how  its  success  was  obtained  in  new 
strange  incidents,  in  obscenity  veiled  or  repul- 
sively naked,  in  gross  or  graceful  jests,  in  prac- 
tical jokes  and  delicate  pathos,  often  by  "ela- 
borate rhetorical  development  of  the  main 
emotions,  placing  carefully  studied  speeches 
in  the  mouth  of  heroine  or  hero  and  using  every 
artifice  for  appealing  directly  to  the  feelings  of 
his  hearers.'* 

Human  nature  seems  not  to  have  changed 
since  the  first  known  calendar  was  computed, 
that  is  to  say  in  July  4241  B.  c.  The  coarse 
and  animal,  which  is  to  a  certain  extent  insepar- 
able from  man  as  a  featherless  biped,  still  has 
its  more  or  less  powerful  attraction.  It  is  found 
in  all  literatures  and  has  to  be  reckoned  with. 
The  tales  of  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights 
have  to  be  expurgated  for  ordinary  reading  and 
there  are  few  of  the  Cento  Novelle  that  would 
do  now  to  present  to  a  mixed  company.  In 
studying  any  past  literature  we  must  expect 
shocks  to  our  conventionalities.  Our  great- 
grandmothers  were  brought  up  on  "The  Pleas- 
ing Instructor, "  which  admitted  into  its  sup- 


146         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

posedly  educational  pages  several  stories  that 
Mr.  Comstock  would  be  likely  to  confiscate. 
We  are  told  that  Queen  Elizabeth's  conversa- 
tion was  garnished  with  very  round  oaths  and 
glided  over  topics  that  would  make  her  presence 
in  a  -modern  drawing-room  a  scandal  and  re- 
proach. It  is  curious,  however,  that  while  the 
English  drama  and  novel  of  the  two  centuries 
before  our  own  era  are  quite  too  frank  in 
speech,  our  own  laxity  of  spectacular  perform- 
ance would  have  been  regarded  with  horror 
by  our  worthy  ancestors. 

Human  nature  remains  the  same  though  con- 
ventionalities change.  And  when  we  remember 
the  expurgations  required  in  Dean  Swift  and 
the  Reverend  Laurence  Sterne,  it  may  not  seem 
so  strange  to  us  to  find  Italian  bishops  in  the 
fourteenth  century  writing  for  the  daughters 
of  princes  novelle  so  salacious  that  not  even 
the  subjects  may  be  mentioned,  or  to  read  at  the 
beginning  of  these  filthy  records  of  monstrous 
vice  a  prayer  such  as  the  following  which  occurs 
at  the  beginning  of  one  of  Lasca's  least  pre- 
sentable novelle: 

"Before  a  beginning  is  made  of  the  story- 
telling of  this  evening  I  turn  to  Thee,  Dio  ottimo 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  147 

e  grandissimoy  who  alone  knowest  all  things  and 
art  all  powerful,  beseeching  Thee  with  humble 
devotion  and  from  my  heart,  that  by  Thy  infinite 
goodness  and  mercy  Thou  wilt  grant  to  me  and 
to  all  the  others  that  shall  follow  me  in  speak- 
ing as  much  of  Thine  aid  and  of  Thy  grace  that 
my  tongue  and  theirs  shall  say  nothing  that  shall 
not  redound  to  Thy  praise  and^their  consolation." 

Mixed  companies  of  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
married  and  single,  listened  without  a  blush 
to  inuendo  and  double  entendre ',  to  the  frankest 
exposition  of  unmentionable  things.  And,  again, 
it  was  in  accordance  with  this  queer  quality  of 
convention  that  boys  and  girls  used  to  be  and 
probably  still  are  in  many  pious  families  set 
to  reading  the  whole  Bible  through  in  course, 
though  perhaps  fortunately  they  do  not  always 
grasp  the  intense  meaning  of  some  of  Saint 
Paul's  savage  jests  or  the  subtleties  of  the  Old 
Testament  which  are  rendered  in  such  veiled 
language  that  their  full  meaning  is  hidden  from 
the  exoteric  reader. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  Italian 
novelheri  always  invented  their  stories.  The 
genealogy  of  popular  fiction  is  as  much  a  science 
as  heraldry.  Just  as  all  human  beings  have  a 


148         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

certain  set  of  features:  a  nose  hawk-like  or 
straight  or  retrousse,  between  two  eyes  of  some 
colour,  above  a  mouth  large,  small  or  medium 
and  established  at  some  angle  upon  a  head 
crowned  with  red,  black,  brown  or  yellow  hair, 
or  like  Chaucer's  monk  whose  "heed  was  balled 
and  schon  like  eny  glasse,"  so  there  are  features 
common  to  all  stories,  whether  they  be  traced 
to  Arabian,  Indian,  Scandinavian,  Slavonic  or 
British  sources.  There  are  great  families  of 
legends,  such  as  those  that  cluster  about  the 
person  of  King  Arthur  and  his  Table  Round, 
or  those  derived  from  the  equally  mythical 
Charlemagne,  or  that  have  come  down  to  us 
from  the  indented  shores  of  Hellas,  or  those  that 
arose  in  what  the  Germans  poetically  call  the 
Morning-land. 

Many  a  story  that  now  does  service  in  the 
nursery  has  a  long  and  regal  ancestry,  perhaps 
finding  its  origin  in  a  sun-myth  told  and  believed 
in  the  misty  ages  thousands  of  years  before  Moses. 
Often  the  character  of  the  nation  amongst 
which  such  stories  had  their  birth  is  plainly 
stamped  upon  them.  How  many  of  the  Ara- 
bian Nights  stories  hint  at  the  despotic  govern- 
ment that  crushed  the  people!  See  how  the 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  149 

poetic  and  lofty  nature  of  the  Greeks  is  be- 
trayed in  their  stories  of  Jason  and  Perseus  and 
Odysseus!  Notice  the  masterful  qualities  of 
the  Romans  in  their  popular  tales,  how  feudal 
chivalry  decked  the  legends  of  Europe  with 
details  of  fire-breathing  dragons  and  innocent 
maidens  rescued  by  gallant  knights!  All  these 
sources  seem  to  contribute  to  the  Nile  stream 
from  which  these  novelists  so  plenteously  drew. 

One  single  genealogical  tree  will  perhaps  give 
some  idea  of  the  distribution  of  these  folk- 
stories.  It  is  taken  from  a  chart  in  Dr  Landau's 
"Die  Quellen  des  Dekameron." 

Somewhere  between  200  B.  c.  and  600  A.  D. 
there  was  composed  in  the  Sanskrit  tongue 
a  work  probably  consisting  of  thirteen  books 
or  parts.  The  original  title  is  lost  and  of 
the  work  itself  only  five  chapters,  under  the 
title  "Kalila  we  Dimna"  or  "Panchatantra,"  are 
known.  The  first  is  called  "The  Gentle  Art  of 
Making  Enemies";  the  second  "The  Acquisi- 
tion of  Friends";  the  third  "The  War  between 
the  Cranes  and  the  Owls";  the  fourth,  "Loss 
of  Former  Possessions",  and  the  fifth,  "Action 
without  Careful  Investigation." 

The  original  work  was  written  by  Buddhists, 


150         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

but  when  Buddhism  was  expelled  from  India 
all  traces  of  Buddhistic  influences  were  elimin- 
ated. The  Brahman  revision  remained  as  one 
of  the  treasures  of  India  for  hundreds  of  years, 
till  it  was  discovered  and  published  in  Germany 
in  1848  and  translated  into  German  by  Benfly, 
That  is  a  direct  short-cut  from  ancient  times  to 
ours.  But  meantime  the  stream  had  been 
coming  in  a  more  round  about  fashion. 

The  original  work  did  not  immediately  perish. 
About  600  A.  D.  the  King  of  Persia,  Khosru 
Nu-shir-wan,  caused  his  Court  Physician 
Berzujah  to  translate  it  into  the  polite  language, 
the  Pahlavi.  This  version,  like  the  original, 
is  supposed  to  have  perished;  but  a  translation 
of  it  into  Syrian  was  made  at  some  time  unknown 
and  was  published  with  a  German  translation 
under  the  title  "Kalilag  und  Damnag,"  in  1876. 
It  was  so  called  from  the  names  of  the  two 
jackals — Karataka  and  Damanaka — that  play 
a  leading  part  in  the  story. 

An  Arab,  by  the  name  of  Abd-allah  ibn  al 
MokafFa,  who  died  in  762,  after  becoming  a 
convert  to  Islamism,  translated  the  Persian 
version  into  Arabic  at  the  instigation  of  the 
Khalif  Al-Mansor.  It  is  said  to  be  less  literal, 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  151 

as  the  translator  was  influenced  by  his  religious 
beliefs;  but  the  manuscripts  are  believed  to  be 
more  or  less  incorrect.  The  same  Pahlavi,-or 
Persian,  version  was  used  about  a  hundred  years 
later  by  the  son  of  the  Khalif  Mamun,  and  this 
again  was  translated  back  into  Persian  by 
Kiaja  Belgemi  at  the  command  of  the  ruler  of 
Khorasan,  Nasr  ben  Ahmed,  and  this  one  again 
served  as  a  basis  for  a  poetical  version  by  Rudegi, 
in  the  tenth  century. 

There  are  a  number  of  other  Arabic  transla- 
tions; and  when  we  remember  the  connection 
that  came  about  between  the  East  and  the  West 
by  means  of  the  Crusades,  and,  moreover,  the 
splendid  civilisation  that  characterised  Sicily 
and  Spain  under  Saracenic  rule,  it  will  not  sur- 
prise us  to  know  how  widely  this  Oriental  wis- 
dom and  anecdote  was  spread  through  the 
world. 

From  one  Arabic  version  a  Hebrew  one  was 
made  by  the  Rabbi  Joel,  supposedly  before  the 
middle  of  the  thirteenth  century;  from  the 
Hebrew  Giovanni  of  Capua  in  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century  made  the  Latin  translation 
printed  in  1480  under  the  title  Directorium 
humance  vitce;  from  this  at  second  or  third  or 


152  A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

even  fourth  hand  are  derived  German,  Danish, 
Spanish,  Italian,  Bohemian,  French  and  English 
versions.  From  the  Greek  translation,  entitled 
"Stephaniteskailchnalites,"  which  dates  from  the 
eleventh  century  and  is  believed  to  be  the  work 
of  a  Greek  physician,  Symeon  Seth,  came  two 
more  Latin  versions,  one  in  Germany,  the  other 
in  Rome,  an  old  Slav  version,  and  one  in  Italian. 

There  are  other  versions,  dozens  of  them, 
including  a  Spanish  translation  which  goes  back 
to  the  thirteenth  century:  they  are  found  in 
Turkish  and  Hindustani — such  was  the  vogue 
of  the  so-called  Fables  of  Bidpah  or  Pilpai.* 
There  is  no  known  Italian  version  before  1548: 
only  one  of  the  anecdotes  of  the  Panchatantra 
appears  in  Boccaccio,  though  there  are  three 
others  that  bear  certain  resemblances,  and  it  is 
thought  that  these  must  have  come  to  him  by 
oral  tradition. 

Another  work  of  Oriental  origin  which  was 
very  widely  spread  by  means  of  translations  and 
leaking  off  into  folk-stories  was  the  "Book  of  the 


*This  is  not  a  proper  name  but  derives  from  an  Arabic  perversion 
of  the  Sanskrit  vidya-pati,  or  master  of  sciences,  which  was  applied  to 
the  Brahman  philosopher  or  pandit  who  is  fabled  to  have  brought  back 
to  the  paths  of  virture  King  Dabshelim,  the  ruler  of  the  Panjab  after 
the  fall  of  Alexander's  governor  in  the  third  century,  B.  c. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  153 

Seven  Wise  Men,"  —  a  work  which  in  popularity 
and  wide-reaching  influence  is  thought  to  excel 
anything  that  has  come  down  to  us  from  anti- 
quity. Under  the  various  titles:  "The  History 
of  the  Forty  Viziers  "in  Turkish,  "Syntipas"in 
Greek;  "Sandabar"  in  Hebrew,  "Sindibad 
Nameh,"  in  Persian,  "Sindbar"  in  Syrian, 
"Sindban  or  the  Seven  Mages,"  "The  History 
of  the  King,  his  Son,  and  the  Seven  Viziers"  in 
other  translations,  is  found  the  same  general 
collection  of  tales  and  the  same  plot. 

In  this  a  king  has  a  son,  by  a  deceased  wife, 
educated  away  from  the  court.  Just  as  the 
young  prince  is  about  to  return  to  his  father 
he  is  warned  by  his  tutor  that,  according  to  the 
stars,  he  will  run  great  danger  and  must  for  a 
time,  say  seven  days,  pretend  that  he  is  deaf 
and  dumb.  He  follows  his  tutor's  advice  and 
various  attempts  are  made  to  cure  him  of  his 
supposed  affliction.  The  Queen,  his  step-mother, 
falls  in  love  with  him,  but  when  she  fails,  like 
Potiphar's  wife  in  the  story  of  Joseph  —  also 
a  favorite  story  in  the  East  —  to  draw  him  from 
the  path  of  virtue,  she  accuses  him  to  the  king, 
who  condemns  him  to  death.  Then  appear 
the  prince's  instructor  and  his  seven  other 


154        A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

teachers — the  seven  Wise  Men — who,  by  their 
entertaining  tales,  manage  to  postpone  the  execu- 
tion till  the  astrological  time  is  fulfilled  and  then 
the  prince,  breaking  his  silence,  declares  his 
innocence  and  the  wicked  queen,  being  con- 
victed of  her  own  guilt,  is  punished. 

A  similar  outline  is  found  in  the  great  col- 
lection of  the  Thousand  Nights  and  the  One 
Night,  which,  by  the  way,  includes  a  variant  of 
the  story  of  the  Seven  Wise  Men. 

Under  the  title  "Historia  Septem  Sapientium 
Romae"  it  was  circulated  in  many  editions  in  the 
Middle  Ages  and  was  early  translated  into 
Italian,  both  prose  and  poetic,  with  dozens  of 
different  names  for  the  Sages,  with  different 
scenes  of  action:  China,  Persia,  India,  Con- 
stantinople, Sicily,  Rome. 

The  eighth  Novel  of  the  second  Day  of  the 
Decameron  is  a  partial  variation  of  this  story, 
but  Boccaccio  also  makes  use  of  several  of  the 
stories  told  by  the  Wise  Men. 

The  "Sukasaptati,"  or  "Seventy  Stories  of  a 
Parrot/*  is  another  collection  of  Oriental  origin, 
where  a  parrot,  in  order  to  save  his  mistress  from 
punishment  in  consequence  of  the  visits  of  her 
lover  during  her  husband's  absence,  tells  this 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  155 

string  of  stones.  Echoes  of  these  are  found  in 
Chaucer  as  well  as  in  Boccaccio.  Who  first 
began  to  make  collections  of  stories  for  the 
amusement  of  the  Italians  it  is  impossible  to 
determine.  There  must  have  been  many  that 
were  never  committed  to  writing.  The  repre- 
sentative collection  dating  from  the  thirteenth 
or  fourteenth  century  is  entitled,  Libra  di  Novelle 
e  di  bel  parlar  gentile:  cento  novelle  antiche,  or 
summed  up  in  one  word,  //  Novellino. 

Professor  D'Ancona  argues  that  this  collection 
was  the  work  of  one  author  who,  he  believes,  was 
a  Florentine  merchant,  but  the  tradition  at- 
tributing it  to  several  authors  and  collectors 
seems  to  be  still  well  grounded  and  sustained. 
There  is  no  manuscript  of  them  in  existence 
and  no  author  rises  from  the  tomb  to  claim 
them  as  his.  Some  of  them  have  been  ascribed 
to  Dante,  others  to  Brunetto  Latini,  others  to 
Francesco  Barberini.  They  seem  to  belong  to 
different  periods.  The  first  edition  that  bore 
the  title  of  "The  Hundred  Ancient  Novels" 
was  published  in  Bologna  in  1525.  It  has  been 
a  moot  question  whether  an  undated  copy 
which  was  sold  some  years  ago  for  £60  was  an 
example  of  this  edition.  It  has  been  frequently 


156         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

printed  since,  and  the  best  edition  is  that  of 
Biagi  of  1880. 

These  novels  throw  a  curious  light  on  the 
men  and  women  and  scholarship  of  the  Italians 
of  the  fourteenth  century.  Most  of  them  are 
cast  in  Italy,  though  in  some  the  scenes  are  laid 
in  other  parts  of  Europe,  in  the  Orient,  and  the 
semi-mythical  realms  of  King  Arthur  and 
Miliardus. 

Antiquity  plays  a  solemn  part:  Aristotle, 
Cato,  Diogenes,  Seneca,  King  Priam  and  other 
celebrities  are  introduced.  In  the  fifty-eighth 
Socrates  appears  as  a  Roman  senator  and  is 
shown  in  consultation  with  an  embassy  from 
the  Greek  Sultan.  The  same  curious  disre- 
gard of  historical  accuracy  is  found  in  the  "  Gesta 
Romanorum."  As  in  mediaeval  paintings  Bible 
characters  are  represented  as  dressed  in  the 
costume  of  the  painter's  epoch,  so  in  these 
stories  all  sorts  of  delightful  anachronisms 
occur.  Greeks  and  Romans  and  Orientals  are 
alike  seen  delineated  in  the  fashion  of  feudal 
knights.  Many  of  them  are  so  simple  and 
unsophisticated  and  childlike  that  they  are  as 
delightful  as  a  picture  by  Botticelli.  Such  for 
instance  is  the  story  of  the  prince  brought  up  in 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  157 

absolute  seclusion  and  ignorance  of  the  world, 
who  is  so  charmed  with  the  demons.  He  had 
heard  of  demons  but  his  guardian's  description 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Pit  did  not  seem  to 
tally  with  the  beings  that  he  saw  so  gaily  dressed 
in  the  street. 

Boccaccio  has  the  same  idea  in  the  intro- 
duction to  the  Fourth  Day.  He  tells  of  a  fellow- 
citizen  named  Felippo  Balducci,  gifted  with 
wealth  and  other  good  things,  who,  inconsolable 
on  the  death  of  his  buona  donna,  took  his  only 
son  and  went  with  him  to  Monte  Asinajo  —  the 
Mountain  of  Pure  Air*  —  to  serve  God  and 
bring  the  boy  up  to  a  similar  pursuit.  This 
valente  uomo  used  sometimes  to  go  down  to 
Florence  and  when  his  son  was  eighteen  and  he 
himself  grown  old  the  youth  begged  his  father 
to  take  him  to  the  city.  After  some  cavil  the 
old  man  accedes  to  his  request. 

Here  the  youth,  seeing  the  palaces,  the  man- 
sions, the  churches,  and  all  the  other  things  of 
which  the  whole  city  was  so  full,  began  to  marvel 
and  many  times  asked  his  father  what  they  were 
and  what  they  were  called.  The  father  told 

*The  word  As inajo  signifies  an  ass-driver,  but  is  explained  as  a 
perversion  of  Asanaria,  that  is,  sana  aria;  rather  far-fetched  it  must 
be  confessed. 


158         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

him  and  when  he  heard  he  was  satisfied  and 
began  to  ask  about  something  else.  And  as 
thus  the  son  was  asking  and  the  father  was 
replying,  by  chance  they  met  a  brigata  of  hand- 
some young  ladies  beautifully  dressed  who 
were  returning  from  a  wedding  festival.  And 
when  the  young  man  saw  them  he  demanded 
of  his  father  what  manner  of  thing  they  were. 
And  the  father  replied : 

"My  son,  fix  your  eyes  upon  the  ground; 
look  not  upon  them;  they  are  evil  things." 

Then  the  son  said:  "But  father,  what  are 
they  called?" 

The  father  not  wishing  to  call  them  by  their 
real  names,  that  is,  women,  said,  "They  are 
called  paper e  —  green  geese." 

And  wonderful  to  relate,  he  who  had  never 
seen  one  before,  not  caring  now  for  the  palaces 
or  the  oxen  or  the  horses  or  the  asses  or  the 
monkeys  or  anything  that  he  had  seen,  sud- 
denly said:  "My  father,  I  beg  you  to  give  me 
one  of  those  green  geese." 

"Oimb  —  alas!  my  son,"  said  the  father, 
"hush,  they  are  evil — mala  cosa!" 

Whereupon  the  son  asked,  saying:  "Are 
evil  things  made  ?" 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  159 

"Yes,"  replied  the  father,  and  the  lad  rejoined: 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  nor  why  they 
are  mala  cosa;  as  for  me,  I  never  saw  anything 
so  beautiful  or  so  delightful,  as  they  are.  They 
are  more  beautiful  than  the  painted  lambs  that 
you  have  sometimes  showed  me.  Ah!  If  you 
have  any  love  for  me,  do  let  us  take  home  with 
us  one  of  those  green  goslings  and  I  will  feed 
it"  —  to  le  darb  beccare. 

And  the  father  replied :  "  I  will  not;  you  do  not 
know  what  they  put  into  their  beaks."  And  he 
repented  that  he  had  brought  his  son  to  Florence. 

In  the  Novellino  a  maiden  educated  in  a 
convent,  knowing  nothing  of  the  outside  world 
sees  a  goat  climbing  on  the  wall  and  asks  a  nun 
what  it  is.  "One  of  the  women  of  the  world," 
she  replies.  "When  they  grow  old  they  have 
a  beard  and  horns. "  And  the  maiden  is  delighted 
to  have  learned  this  much  of  the  great  world. 


ii 

The  author  or  authors  of  the  Novellino  are 
hidden  behind  the  veil  of  anonymity;  but  not 
far  distant  from  them  in  time  stands  a  figure 


160         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

which  is  the  type  and  representative  of  the  gay, 
pleasure-loving,  pleasure-conferring  novelliero  of 
the  Renascence.  Giovanni  Boccaccio  —  John 
Big-mouth  —  was  born  in  the  year  1313.  His 
father,  Boccaccio  di  Chellino,  of  a  plebeian 
family  of  Certalda,  a  castello  of  the  Val  D'Elsa 
was  a  merchant  whose  business  apparently  kept 
him  vibrating  between  Florence  and  Paris. 
It  is  known  that  he  was  in  Paris  from  1310  until 
the  year  of  his  son's  birth.  There  is  a  legend 
to  the  effect  that  he  was  engaged  in  some  service 
under  the  King  of  France,  Philip  the  Fair,  and 
that  from  his  intimate  relations  with  a  young 
lady  of  high  rank,  possibly  a  princess  of  the 
blood,  was  born  the  illegitimate  son.  Korting 
and  some  of  the  Italian  biographers  of  Boccaccio 
argue  with  considerable  ingenuity  that,  as  he 
certainly  inherited  property  from  his  father  and 
enjoyed  the  right  of  citizenship  in  Florence  and 
held  public  office,  he  must  have  been  a  legitimate 
son  and  hence  they  do  not  hesitate  to  assert  that 
Boccaccio  di  Chellino  married  a  French  lady, 
brought  her  to  Florence  and  there  the  boy  was 
born. 

Vencenzo  Crescini  combats  this  opinion  and 
to  support  his  views,  which  coincide  with  the 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  161 

legend,  he  adduces  three  of  Boccaccio's  novelle, 
in  which  he  finds  autobiographical  data  veiled 
under  the  disguise  of  fiction  and  anagram. 
According  to  him  Boccaccio's  mother  was  a 
Parisian  lady,  her  name  being  Jeanne,  the  ana- 
gram of  which  is  Giannai.  Boccaccio's  father 
abandoned  the  mother  of  his  son  and  afterward 
in  Florence  took  to  wife  Margherita  di  Gian 
Donato  de'  Martoli,  whose  name  appears  in  one 
of  the  novelle  as  Gharemita. 

In  the  same  way,  reading  between  the  lines,  it 
seems  probable  that  his  presence  in  the  paternal 
house  was  not  grateful  to  the  new  Signora 
Boccaccio  and  that  he  was  therefore  brought  up 
away  from  his  home.  His  father  destined  him 
for  his  own  vocation  and  sent  him  to  Naples, 
probably  when  he  was  about  sixteen  years  old. 

He  was  evidently  a  boy  of  precocious  intel- 
lect and  in  Naples  there  was  everything  to  stimu- 
late his  ambition.  Under  the  patronage  and 
protection  of  King  Roberto,  who  under  Petrarca's 
instruction  had  learned  to  like  poetry,  bards  and 
learned  men  found  their  works  and  studies 
liberally  rewarded.  Villani,  Boccaccio's  earliest 
biographer  tells  a  pretty  story  of  the  youth :  how 
he  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  tomb  of  Vergil  at 


1 62         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Posilipo  and  looking  forth  on  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  prospects  in  the  whole  wide  world  - 
the  sea  lying  at  his  feet  like  a  vast  living  sapphire 
set  with  diamonds,  the  vine-clad  mountains  and 
the  villa-dotted  shores  —  then  and  there  vowed 
to  devote  himself  to  Poesy. 

In  his  leisure  moments  he  studied.  Paolo 
Perugino,  King  Robert's  learned  librarian,  gave 
him  his  first  lessons  in  that  classic  mythology 
which  he  introduces  into  his  works  with  such 
brilliant  effect.  It  is  known  that  he  learned 
eagerly  about  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies 
from  the  famous  Genoese  astronomer  Andalone 
del  Negro,  of  whom  he  speaks  with  the  greatest 
reverence  in  his  later  works.  In  comparison 
with  such  lofty  themes  what  a  dry  and  tedious 
drudgery  was  the  study  of  mercantile  law  - 
the  Decretale  —  and  how  low  and  degrading 
the  details  of  trade!  He  begged  his  grudging 
father  to  allow  him  to  abandon  the  profession 
which  he  so  thoroughly  detested.  He  studied 
canonical  law  and  other  subjects  then  regarded 
as  essential  to  a  liberal  education  but  undoubt- 
edly the  Latin  poets  offered  more  attractions 
to  him  than  the  dryer  books  of  the  Jurists. 
The  letters  that  he  wrote  at  this  time  are  couched 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  163 

in  very  barbarous  Latin  and  are  sprinkled  with 
Greek  terms  just  as  a  boy  nowadays  learning 
French  or  German  likes  to  show  off  his  new 
attainment  by  introducing  it  at  every  oppor- 
tunity. 

Probably  Boccaccio  then  spent  most  of  his 
young-manhood  at  Naples:  whether  he  had  the 
advantage  of  travel,  as  Villani  asserts,  is  proble- 
matical, but  we  have  Boccaccio's  own  somewhat 
allegorical  description  of  the  most  important 
episode  of  his  life.  Just  as  Dante  worshipped 
Beatrice,  just  as  Petrarca  made  Laura  the  ideal 
of  his  life,  so  Boccaccio  found  his  inspiration  in 
a  love  that  is  hardly  less  celebrated. 

On  the  Saturday  preceding  Easter,  1338,  in 
the  church  of  San  Lorenzo,  Boccaccio  saw  for 
the  first  time  Madonna  Maria,  the  natural 
daughter  of  King  Roberto.  She  was  married 
to  a  personage  of  high  rank  attached  to  her 
father's  court.  She  was  a  vision  of  radiant 
beauty:  belhssima  nelV  aspetto,  graztosa  e 
leggiadra  e  di  verdi  vestimentt  vestita,  e  ornata 
secondo  che  la  sua  eta  e  I'anttco  costume  della 
citta  richledono.  This  lady  whom  he  so  beauti- 
fully describes  in  her  beauty  and  grace,  in  her 
green  gown  as  the  fashion  of  the  city  prescribed, 


164         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

kindled  in  Boccaccio's  heart  the  flames  of  love, 
and  he  celebrated  his  passion  for  her  under  the 
name  of  Fiametta. 

At  first  she  welcomed  the  adoration  of  the 
handsome  young  poet,  who,  like  herself,  had  to 
bear  the  bar  sinister  of  illegitimate  birth  —  a 
disgrace  perhaps,  but  not  so  seriously  regarded 
in  those  days  of  decaying  feudal  customs,  espe- 
cially where  the  one  side  or  the  other  had  royal 
blood.  She  shared  the  common  conception  that 
"a  poet's  worship  is  each  woman's  secret  goal." 

But  to  the  joyous  days  of  reciprocated  pas- 
sion succeeded,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  the  dark 
hours  when  it  begins  to  dawn  on  the  poet  that 
he  is  only  a  toy  of  the  beautiful  woman  for 
whom  he  would  be  willing  to  die. 

He,  then,  like  Petrarca,  though  even  more 
bitterly  —  because  he  had  once  tasted  the  en- 
chanted Circean  cup  —  bewails  his  wasted  days 
and  his  love-lorn  case:  but  not  in  the  form  of  a 
canzoniero.  Boccaccio,  to  be  sure,  wrote  poetry, 
but  he  is  not  remembered  as  a  poet,  rather  as  a 
story-teller.  Here  and  there  in  the  course  of 
these  multitudinous  tales  we  may  see  the  traces 
of  his  once  reciprocated  but  afterwards  un- 
requited devotion. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  165 

Through  the  influence  of  Fiametta  he  first 
tried  his  hand  at  the  art  which  he  so  perfected. 
One  time,  while  the  sun  of  favour  was  shining 
upon  him,  he  and  Fiametta  were  together  at  a 
brigata  and  when  the  conversation  turned  upon 
the  famous  old  French  romance  of  Florio  and 
Blanchefleur,  the  fair  lady  bade  her  lover  tell  the 
story  in  the  Italian  tongue.  Instead  of  the 
piccolo  libretto  which  she  expected  he  expanded 
it  into  a  long  volume.  Before  it  was  finished 
he  had  left  Napoli  and  was  at  his  father's  house 
at  either  Florence  or  Certalda. 

As  we  have  remarked  before,  the  autobio- 
graphy of  his  youth  is  to  be  discovered  in  the 
various  episodes  of  this  first  novella.  It  bears 
the  name  of  //  Filocolo  and  in  an  affected  and 
prolix  style  relates  how  Lelio,  a  noble  Roman 
of  the  early  Christian  times,  was  with  his  wife 
Giulia  travelling  to  San  Giacomo  in  Galicia  when, 
being  attacked  by  Felice,  King  of  Spain,  he  was 
slain.  Giulia  fell  into  the  hand  of  the  Pagans 
but  was  kindly  received  by  the  queen.  The 
queen  bears  a  son  named  Florio  and  on  the 
same  day  to  the  captive  woman  is  born  a  beauti- 
ful daughter  to  whom  is  given  the  romantic  name 
of  Biancofiore,  or  White  Flower.  The  two 


i66       A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

children  are  brought  up  together  at  Marmorina 
and  of  course  learn  to  love  each  other.  When 
the  king  learns  of  their  passion  he  sends  his 
son  to  study  at  Montario.  These  are  the  high- 
flown  words  with  which  the  young  prince  takes 
his  leave,  sugaring  the  bitterness  of  their  sep- 
aration: "The  transparency  [chiarita]  of  thy 
visage  surpasses  the  light  of  Apollo,  nor  can  the 
bellezza  of  Venus  equal  thine.  And  the  sweetness 
of  thy  voice  would  do  better  things  than  the 
lyre  of  the  Thracian  or  the  Theban  Amphion. 
Wherefore  the  lofty  Emperor  of  Rome,  castigator 
of  the  world,  would  be  thy  fittest  consort  or 
rather,  in  my  opinion,  if  't  were  possible  for 
Juno  to  die,  none  would  be  more  suitable  to  be 
the  consort  of  highest  Jove." 

As  the  separation  proves  unavailing  the  girl 
is  charged  with  plotting  to  poison  the  king. 
She  is  condemned  to  be  burned  at  the  stake  but 
the  gallant  young  lover  rescues  her  just  in  time. 
She  is  then  sold  as  a  slave  to  some  merchants 
who  carry  her  off  to  Alexandria  and  dispose  of 
her  to  the  admiral  of  that  noble  city.  Florio 
is  informed  that  his  White  Flower  is  dead. 
Just  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  shuffling  off  this  mor- 
tal coil  in  the  dignified  and  leisurely  way  charac- 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  167 

teristic  of  the  ancients  so  as  to  join  her  in  the 
world  of  ghosts  his  mother  tells  him  the  truth, 
and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  at  being  spared  an 
unpleasant  duty  he  hastens  ofF  with  renewed 
ardour  under  the  assumed  name  of  Filocolo, 
which  Boccaccio  —  unwittingly  betraying  his 
small  knowledge  of  Greek  —  assures  his  readers 
comes  from  two  Greek  words  philos,  love,  and 
kolos,  fatigue  —  whereby  he  means  simply  that 
he  would  never  rest  till  he  should  find  his 
lost  love. 

After  various  adventures  he  reaches  Alex- 
andria and  makes  his  way  to  the  tower  where 
Biancofiore  is  confined.  Just  as  they  are  about 
to  escape,  happy  at  being  reunited,  they  are 
caught  again  and  condemned  to  be  burned  to 
death.  But  a  magic  ring  defends  them  from 
the  flames.  Venus  herself  descends  to  liberate 
them.  Mars  also  takes  their  part  and  by  put- 
ting himself  at  the  head  of  the  young  man's 
followers  routs  their  enemies.  Finally  the 
admiral  of  Alexandria  recognizes  in  Florio,  alias 
Filocolo  his  own  nephew,  and  unites  him  to  his 
beloved  Biancofiore.  On  their  way  home  they 
find  in  Rome  the  beautiful  bride's  most  noble 
relatives.  Under  the  able  instruction  of  Sant' 


i68         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Ilario  Florio  becomes  a  convert  to  Christianity 
and  returning  to  Marmorina  causes  his  parents 
also  to  be  baptised. 

The  principal  charm  of  the  work  consists  in 
the  epidodes.  What  to  us  mean  such  euphuisms 
as  to  speak  of  morning  as  the  getting  up  of  the 
Goddess  Aurora  or  to  speak  of  evening  as  the 
time  when  the  horses  of  Phoebus  bathe  in  the 
waves  of  the  ocean  ?  These  periphrases,  as 
one  may  easily  see,  are  only  the  exaggerations 
of  the  peculiar  style  at  first  affected  by  Dante 
and  based  on  the  poetry  of  Vergil  and  Ovid. 
They  are  the  natural  effects  of  a  classical 
education  not  as  yet  accommodating  itself  to 
the  genius  of  a  man's  own  vernacular  and  time. 

Florio  on  his  way  to  Alexandria  is  driven  by 
a  tempest  to  Naples  and  there,  or  at  least  just 
outside  the  city,  he  meets  —  by  a  delightful 
anachronism  —  a  lieta  brigata,  with  the  beautiful 
Fiametta  as  the  lady  of  honour.  He  is  received 
most  graciously  and  made  umpire  to  decide  thir- 
teen subtle  questions  of  love.  These  are  excellent 
samples  of  the  absurd  subtleties  that  exercised 
those  gay  and  fashionable  ladies  and  cavaliers: 

A  girl  wooed  by  two  lovers  at  a  festival  takes 
a  garland  from  one  of  them  and  puts  it  on  her 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  169 

own  head  but  at  the  same  time  she  removes  her 
own  garland  and  with  it  adorns  the  head  of  the 
other.  Which  is  the  favoured  suitor,  which  has 
the  preference  ? 

We  might  almost  expect  to  meet  the  story  of 
the  Lady  or  the  Tiger. 

Here  is  another:  Which  of  two  women  is 
the  more  unhappy:  she  that  has  a  lover  and 
loses  him  or  she  that  is  hopeless  of  having  one  ? 

Again:  Which  of  three  lovers  deserves  pref- 
erence: the  strongest,  the  most  courteous  or 
the  wisest  ?  Methinks  we  again  go  back  to  the 
earliest  times  and  witness  the  three  goddesses 
bringing  their  bribes  to  Paris,  son  of  Priam  — 
whence  the  rape  of  Helen,  the  Trojan  War,  the 
voyages  of  Odysseus  and  the  splendid  cycle  of 
hero-stories  which  grow  like  branches  from  a 
cedar  of  Lebanon. 

Still  another  of  these  problematical  cases  pro- 
pounds whether  it  is  better  to  love  a  maid,  a 
wife,  or  a  widow;  and  illustrative  of  the  tenzone 
or  discussion  are  stories  which  in  several  cases 
are  still  further  elaborated  in  the  Decameron. 
In  the  last  book  of  "II  Filocolo,"  which  was  writ- 
ten after  Fiametta  had  withdrawn  her  favour 
from  Boccaccio,  occurs  the  episode  wherein  he 


170         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

apparently,  under  allegorical  figures,  depicts  his 
life  and  love. 

Florio  is  represented  as  on  his  way  back  to 
his  father's  palace  with  the  bride  whom  he  had 
won  in  spite  of  all  obstacles.  But  it  pleases 
him  first  to  revisit  Napoli  and  let  his  beloved 
gaze  at  those  enchanting  landscapes.  He  takes 
her  to  the  tepid  baths  of  Baja,  to  the  time- 
honoured  tomb  of  Misenus,  to  the  cave  of 
Cumae.  They  look  down  on  the  glittering 
waves  of  the  Myrtoan  sea  and  the  glories  of 
Pozzuoli.  He  enjoys  the  pleasures  of  fishing 
and  he  hunts  the  red  deer  in  the  shady  woods. 

One  day  he  hurls  his  javelin  at  a  noble  stag 
but  misses  his  aim  and  the  weapon  is  imbedded 
in  the  foot  of  a  very  lofty  pine.  After  the  ex- 
ample of  the  story  of  Polydorus,  in  Vergil,  a 
stream  of  blood  gushes  forth  from  the  spot 
where  the  bark  was  torn  and  a  dolorosa  voce  tells 
the  story  of  Idalagos.  I  will  condense  it: 

In  fruitful  Italy,  says  the  voice,  lies  a  small 
tract  of  land  which  the  ancients  called  Tuscany 
and  in  the  midst  of  it  rises  a  little  hill  (/.  £.,  Cer- 
taldo)  whereon  Eucomos  (in  other  words 
Boccaccio  di  Chellino)  pastured  his  silly  sheep, 
nor  was  it  far  from  those  waves  which  the  horses 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  171 

of  Phoebus,  having  passed  the  meridian  circle, 
eagerly  yearn  for,  that  they  may  quench  their 
burning  thirst  and  find  repose:  and  thither  he 
went  and  there  the  gentle  flock  of  Franconarcos, 
King  of  the  White  Country  (that  is,  Philip  II.) 
found  pasturage  which  he  watched  with  the 
greatest  solicitude. 

This  king  had  a  large  flock  of  daughters  with 
beauty  adorned  and  in  splendid  costumes  and 
one  day,  sent  by  their  sire,  they  came  with  a 
most  notable  array  of  companions,  to  offer  up 
sweet-smelling  incense  in  a  sacred  temple 
dedicated  to  Minerva,  which  stood  in  an  ancient 
forest,  still  rich  in  store  of  beauteous  leaves 
and  fruit. 

Having  accomplished  their  sacrifice  and  the 
day  being  well  spent,  they  began  to  indulge  in 
festal  pleasures  amid  the  delicious  wood. 

Near  this  forest  Eucomos,  above  all  shepherds 
most  crafty  and  endowed  with  wit,  chanced  to 
be  watching  his  flock  and  having  with  his  own 
hands  made  a  sampogna,  or  rustic  pipe,  which 
gave  greater  delight  to  those  that  heard  it  than 
any  other  sound,  unwitting  that  the  daughters 
of  his  lord  had  come,  the  sun  at  that  time  being 
hotter  than  at  any  other  period  of  the  day,  he 


i;2         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

had  gathered  his  flock  under  the  shade  of  a 
lofty  maple  and  leaning  his  arm  on  his  mystic 
crook  was  playing  his  sampogna  to  his  own 
exceeding  joy. 

This  sound  coming  to  the  ears  of  the  errant 
maidens,  they  without  delay  drew  near  and  after 
they  had  listened  with  delight  to  the  music  and 
had  rejoiced  to  see  the  gambols  of  the  silly 
sheep,  one  of  them,  named  Giannai,  the  most 
beautiful  of  them  all,  called  to  Eucomos  and 
begged  him  to  give  them  his  music  that  they 
might  dance,  and  promised  him  a  reward.  He 
complied.  It  pleased  them  and  they  came  back 
many  times  to  hear  him.  Eucomos  compelled 
his  genius  to  most  noble  sounds  and  tried  his 
best  to  delight  Giannai,  who,  coming  nearer 
than  any  of  the  others,  kept  urging  him  to  play 
on.  And  her  beauty  ran  to  the  eyes  of  Eucomos 
with  gracious  delight.  And  to  her  also  came 
sweet  thoughts.  He  in  his  own  heart  greatly 
praised  her  beauty  and  felt  that  the  man  whom 
the  gods  should  deem  worthy  of  possessing  her 
would  be  indeed  blessed  and  he  wished  that  it 
were  possible  he  might  be  the  one. 

And  at  these  thoughts  Cupid,  the  disturber  of 
unanchored  minds,  descended  from  Parnassus 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  173 

and  came  to  that  place  and  furtively  instilled 
his  poison  into  the  rustic's  veins,  joining  to 
desire  sudden  hope. 

Three  days  later  it  chanced  by  Fate,  who  is 
the  orderer  of  things  mundane,  conscious  of  the 
future,  that  Giannai  alone  of  the  sisters  came 
with  a  small  company  of  whom  she  felt  no  fear 
and  begged  him  to  play  to  her,  and  he  obeyed. 
But  soon  he  changed  the  sweet  sounds  of  his 
music  into  the  sweeter  sounds  of  flattery  and 
with  deceitful  promises  he  made  her  put  full 
faith  in  him.  "She  bore  him  two  sons,"  con- 
tinues the  speaking  pine,  "of  whom  I  was  one, 
and  my  name  is  Idalagos.  But  no  long 
time  elapsed  after  our  birth  ere  he  abandoned 
the  silly  maiden  and  returned  with  his  flock  to 
his  own  pastures  and  transferred  the  troth  which 
he  had  pledged  to  Giannai  to  another  called 
Garamita  by  whom  in  short  space  he  had  new 
offspring."  Idalagos,  whom  we  must  under- 
stand to  be  the  poet  himself,  says  that  he  fol- 
lowed his  father's  footsteps  all  the  days  of  his 
youth,  but  as  the  lofty  qualities  of  his  genius 
which  he  had  received  from  Nature  kept  in- 
creasing, he  turned  his  feet  from  the  base  of  the 
hill  —  that  is  to  say  he  turned  his  back  upon  his 


174         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

father  who  was  of  lowly  origin  though  probably 
rich  by  reason  of  successful  trade  —  and  rested 
his  claims  on  admittance  into  the  splendid 
society  of  Naples  on  his  mother's  noble  birth  — 
turned  his  feet  from  the  basso  colle  and  en- 
deavoured by  severer  paths  to  attain  to  loftier 
things. 

He  relates  how  one  day  when  wishing  to 
enter  the  paternal  roof  two  terrible  and  most 
ferocious  bears  —  orsi  ferocissimi  e  terribili  — 
appeared  before  him  with  burning  eyes,  desirous 
of  his  death,  and  how  from  that  time  forth  he 
abandoned  the  paternali  campi  and  came  to 
these  lovely  woods  near  Naples  where,  dwelling 
with  Calmeta,  pastor  solennissimo,  who  knew 
so  much  of  all  things,  he  was  attaining  the 
summit  of  his  desires. 

There  seems  to  be  a  certain  similarity  between 
Dante  prevented  by  the  three  wild  beasts  from 
attaining  the  summit  of  his  hill  and  Boccaccio 
attacked  by  the  terrible  and  ferocious  bears 
keeping  him  from  his  threshold. 

He  proceeds  in  his  story:  "One  day  as  we 
were  resting  with  our  flocks  he  began  to  tell  with 
his  shepherd's  pipes  the  new  changes  and  the 
unthinkable  courses  of  the  silvery  moon  and 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  175 

what  the  reason  might  be  that  it  should  lose 
and  then  gain  its  light  and  the  like. 

"These  things  I  attended  with  the  greatest 
diligence  and  so  much  did  they  delight  my 
unpolished  mind  that  I  determined  to  know 
them.  .  .  .  and  having  abandoned  the 
pastoral  life,  I  disposed  myself  to  follow  Pallas 
in  all  respects." 

Here  we  have  again  thinly  disguised  under  the 
image  of  the  two  ferocious  bears  the  guardians 
of  the  home  to  which  as  a  bastard  child  he  was 
not  welcome  and  under  the  pseudonym  of  the 
astronomical  shepherd  Calmeta  the  learned 
Andalone  del  Negro  whom  he  so  often  mentions 
as  his  master;  and  finally  his  abandonment 
of  his  trade.  One  more  passage  from  this  same 
story  will  show,  also  in  allegorical  language, 
how  Boccaccio  more  than  once  loved  before  he 
saw  Maria  di  Aquino  and  how  his  love  for  the 
young  princess  brought  about  his  ruin: 

"These  woods,"  continues  the  tale,  "seemed 
favourable  for  the  pursuits  of  Pallas,  but  at 
certain  seasons  and  especially  when  the  Delphic 
one  reached  Aries,  they  were  often  visited 
by  ladies  who  walked  about  with  slow  and 
graceful  steps  and  I  slowly  followed  them 


176         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

so  that  though  mine  eyes  were  delighted  with 
their  grace  I  continued  to  escape  the  darts  of 
Cupid,  for  I  feared  lest  if  I  were  wounded  by 
them,  my  days  would  increase  to  my  hurt;  and 
being  disposed  to  avoid  them  I  gave  myself  up 
first  to  the  cittern  of  Orpheus  and  secondly  to 
being  a  good  marksman." 

And  he  goes  on  to  tell  how  first  of  all  from 
among  the  ladies,  all  of  whom  he  came  to  know, 
a  white  dove  led  him  through  the  young  shrub- 
bery, flitting  on  its  quick  wings  while  he  fol- 
lowed with  his  bow  and  arrows.  And  when  he 
was  weary  of  this  chase  a  nera  merla  —  a  black 
blackbird  with  red  beak  and  full  of  delightful 
songs,  occupied  him;  but  in  vain  he  sought  to 
plant  his  arrows  in  her  heart.  And  then  a 
pappagallo  —  a  parrot  —  still  more  enticingly 
urged  him  to  the  zeal  of  conquest,  as  it  flew 
with  its  green  winnowing  wings  through  the 
shrubbery  that  hid  it  ever  and  anon  from  his 
eager  eyes. 

"But, "  says  he,"  the  clever  archer  Amore,  who, 
by  hidden  ways  makes  entrance  into  guarded 
hearts,  now  that  the  sweet  time  had  come  again, 
when  the  meadows,  the  fields  and  the  trees 
bring  forth,  as  the  ladies  were  going  to  their 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  177 

accustomed  delight,  caused  from  amongst  their 
delightsome  choir  —  piacevole  coro — a  pheasant 
to  arise  and  as  I  followed  it  with  my  eyes,  flying 
over  the  tops  of  the  highest  trees  the  beauty 
of  its  variegated  plumage  so  distracted  my  mind 
though  bent  on  more  useful  things,  that  I  made 
ready  to  follow  it,  sparing  neither  art  nor  bow 
nor  genius  to  accomplish  it.  Feeling  my  heart 
wholly  contaminated  by  the  poison  of  love  so 
long  avoided,  recognising  that  I  was  caught  in 
the  very  gin  which  I  had  hitherto  escaped  by 
my  great  discretion,  I  turned  about  and  beheld 
the  number  of  those  beauteous  ladies  diminished 
by  one  whom  I  had  hitherto  regarded  as  more 
than  any  of  the  others  beauteous. 

"Then  I  recognised  the  deception  practised 
by  Love,  who,  not  being  able  to  get  me  into  his 
power,  like  other  men,  had  caught  me  by  inter- 
est in  other  forms,  first  disposing  my  heart  by 
various  desires,  to  take  to  this  and  when,  sighing, 
I  turned  toward  the  pheasant,  the  lady  who 
had  vanished  from  the  midst  of  the  others 
changing  back  into  her  pristine  shape  appeared 
before  my  eyes  and  thus  spake:  'Why  art  thou 
ready  to  flee  from  me  ?  None  loves  thee  more 
than  I  do/ 


178         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"These  words  caused  me  more  fear  of  de- 
ception than  hope  of  future  gain  and  I  doubted 
because  she  was  of  a  beauty  far  more  splendid 
than  the  others  and  her  origin  was  of  lofty  descent 
and  she  was  full  of  the  graces  of  Juno.  Where- 
fore I  declared  that  it  was  impossible  that  she 
should  do  aught  else  than  make  sport  of  me. 
And  if  I  had  been  able  I  should  have  drawn 
back  from  what  was  begun.  But  the  nobility 
of  my  heart,  derived  not  from  my  father  the 
shepherd  but  from  my  mother  of  royal  birth, 
caused  me  to  burn  and  I  said:  'I  will  follow 
her  and  find  out  if  she  prove  true  in  fact  as  she 
has  been  forward  in  speaking.' ' 

He  satisfies  himself  that  she  is  telling  the  truth 
and  he  says  he  took  her  as  the  loftiest  treasure 
of  his  heart,  and,  as  she  seemed  to  love  him  better 
than  any  one  else,  he  lived  for  some  time  content. 

But  the  inconstant  faith  of  woman's  breast 
which  brings  her  lover  ever  more  delight  caused 
her  to  prove  false  to  him  and  she  finally  aban- 
doned his  miserable  heart  for  another. 

"To  tell  what  was  my  anguish,"  he  cries,  "at 
suddenly  losing  an  object  so  much  loved  and  so 
far  above  all,  when  I  with  mine  own  eyes  saw 
it  carried  off  elsewhere,  would  be  a  waste  of 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  179 

words,  for  I  see  you  already  know,  but  never- 
theless the  hope  still  remained  that  I  might  turn 
her  back  and  therefore  I  spared  neither  tears 
nor  entreaties  nor  fatigues.  But  she  refused 
to  listen  or  heed,  nor  would  she  even  look; 
wherefore  in  desperation  at  my  torment  I 
sought  death  but  could  not  obtain  it,  not  being 
as  yet  at  the  fated  end  of  my  days.*'  But  Venus 
had  pity  on  him  and  changed  him  into  a  pine  — 
in  other  words  he  pined  away. 

In  another  of  Boccaccio's  stories,  the  "Ameto," 
the  same  idea  is  repeated  and  the  names  of  his 
Neapolitan  loves  are  given  as  Pampinea  and 
Abrotonia.  Who  they  were  in  reality  probably 
no  one  will  ever  know.  But  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  under  the  image  of  the  royal  pheasant 
with  its  brilliant  plumage  —  he  introduces  the 
same  bird  again  in  the  fourth  book  —  he  means 
Fiametta.  Before  Boccaccio  finished  "II  Filocolo" 
he  wrote  a  long  poem  entitled  "Filostrato" — 
"The  Lover  Subjected."  It  is  based  upon 
an  episode  of  the  Trojan  war  and  it  was  com- 
posed during  Fiametta's  absence,  as  is  proved 
by  the  dedicatory  epistle.  It  is  a  story  of  in- 
trigue, jealousy,  deception;  in  spite  of  its  classic 
names  and  affectations  of  antiquity  it  really 


i8o         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

represents  his  own  experiences  in  Naples. 
Another  poem  written  in  similar  circumstances 
was  "Teseide,"  also  in  octave  like  "Don  Juan," 
and  these  two  poems  are  the  earliest  known 
examples  of  that  meter. 

Dante  wrote  pastoral  poetry  in  Latin,  in 
imitation  of  the  ancients,  and  so  did  Petrarca. 
Boccaccio  had  to  follow  their  example.  Petrarca's 
"Bucolicum  Carmen"  is  assigned  to  the  year 
1346.  Boccaccio's  third  eclogue  is  known  to  have 
been  composed  two  years  later  and  his  sixteenth 
about  1363,  while  his  idyll,  "Ninfale  d'Admeto," 
is  thought  to  have  been  written  in  1341  or  1342, 
about  the  time  when  he  was  returning  to  his 
father's  house. 

The  story  is  in  prose  interspersed  with  sestine 
and  perfectly  simple.  Ameto  (Greek,  Ad- 
metos),  an  uncouth  and  wandering  huntsman, 
falls  in  love  with  Lia,  a  most  beautiful  nymph, 
and  under  the  influence  of  the  new  passion  he 
abandons  his  savage  life  and  becomes  civilised. 
On  a  day  sacred  to  Venus  he  follows  his  fair 
one  to  a  beautiful  shaded  meadow  and  sits  with 
her  by  the  side  of  a  clear  fountain.  The 
temple  of  Venus  is  not  far  away  —  between  the 
running  waters  of  the  Arno  and  the  Mugnone  — 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  181 

whereby  he  is  supposed  to  mean  the  church  of 
San  Giovanni  Battista.  Six  other  nymphs, 
Mopsa  and  Emilia,  Adiona  and  Acrimonia, 
Agapes  and  Fiametta  come  along,  two  and  two, 
and  the  usual  lieta  brigata  is  formed.  Shep- 
herd songs  and  tenzoni  are  sung  and  then  Lia 
proposes  that  each  one  of  them  should  narrate 
the  story  of  their  loves : 

"You  are  all  young,"  she  says,  "and  I  and 
our  forms  give  no  sign  that  we  have  lived  or  are 
still  living  without  having  felt  or  even  now  feel- 
ing the  flames  of  that  revered  goddess  whose 
temples  we  have  visited  this  day." 

Under  the  allegory  of  the  seven  nymphs  each 
of  whom  at  the  end  of  her  story  sings  a  song  in 
triolets  to  her  special  goddess:  Pallas,  Pru- 
dence; Diana,  Justice;  Pomona,  Temperance; 
Bellona,  Bravery;  Venus,  Love;  Vesta,  Hope; 
and  Cebele,  Faith,  we  have  the  four  cardinal 
virtues  and  the  three  theological  virtues  typified 
both  in  idea  and  practice. 

When  the  last  of  the  nymphs  has  told  her 
story  and  sung  her  triolet-song,  their  attention 
is  attracted  by  a  wonderful  prodigy  in  the  sky: 
seven  swans  and  seven  storks  engage  in  a  battle 
and  the  swans  win  the  victory.  Then  suddenly 


1 82         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

from  on  high  flashes  forth  with  dazzling  bril- 
liancy a  pillar  of  fire  like  that  which  guided  the 
Hebrews  through  the  desert  and  a  sweet  voice 
is  heard  saying: 

"  I  am  the  One  and  Triune  Light  of  Heaven 
Beginning  and   End  of  all  things." 

Io  son  luce  del  cielo  unica  e  trina, 
Principle  e  fine  di  ciascuna  cosa. 

Ameto  then  learns  that  the  Venus  whom  the 
nymphs  have  been  celebrating  is  not  that  lust- 
ful goddess  who  inspires  inordinate  desires  in 
human  beings  but  rather  the  divinity  from 
whom  descend  into  men's  hearts  genuine,  true 
and  holy  passions  —  i  vert  e  guisti  e  santi  amort. 
In  other  words,  she  is  the  Holy  Trinity,  the  God 
of  Christianity.  And  when  Ameto  recovers  his 
eyesight  and  looks  at  the  seven  nymphs  — 
his  seven  Virtues,  mind  you  —  they  appear  to 
him  more  beautiful  than  ever  and  as  they  gaze 
up  into  the  column  of  fire  they  also  seem  to  be 
ablaze  and  he  trembles  lest  they  should  be  con- 
sumed —  especially  Agapes  and  Lia.  And  then 
once  more  he  raises  his  eyes  to  the  clear  light ; 
as  one  sees  the  coal  burning  in  the  fire  so  in  this 
marvellous  pillar  of  fire  he  perceives  an  effulgent 
body  overmastering  all  other  brightness,  as 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  183 

molten  steel  taken  from  the  furnace  flashes  forth 
a  multitude  of  sparks :  but  the  form  of  the  face 
and  of  the  eyes  divine  he  cannot  distinguish 
and  while  he  is  still  filled  with  wonder  he  again 
hears  the  goddess  speaking  in  terza  rima  —  as 
in  the  "Divina  Commedia,"  which  it  is  plain  he 
imitating  in  all  the  machinery  of  the  scene  —  as 
follows : 

"  Oh  my  dear  sisters  through  whom  are  mani- 
fest the  roads  that  lead  into  my  realms  for  those 
that  wish  to  mount  and  put  on  wings  —  your 
good  works  just  and  upright,  straightforward, 
good,  holy,  and  virtuous,  worthy  of  praise,  simple 
and  modest,  open  the  dark  and  nebulous  eyes  of 
Ameto  that  he  may  see  the  beauties  of  my  joy." 

Before  the  divine  words  are  fully  uttered  the 
nymphs  run  to  Ameto;  Lia  frees  him  from  his 
soiled  habiliments,  dips  him  into  the  clear  foun- 
tain, just  as  Lucia  baptises  Dante  in  the  waters 
of  the  Lethe  stream  in  the  "Purgatory;"  then 
renders  him  purified  into  the  hands  of  Fiametta. 
Mopsa  dries  his  eyes  and  removes  the  scales 
that  had  blinded  him;  Emilia  directs  his  gaze 
to  the  visage  of  the  goddess;  Acrimonia  increases 
the  strength  of  his  eyes  that  they  may  endure  the 
supernal  splendour;  Adiona  clothes  him  anew 


184         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

with  most  grateful  raiment;  Agapes,  breathing 
into  his  mouth,  kindles  within  him  the  holy  fire. 
And  Ameto,  turning  to  the  seraphic  vision 
begins  a  long  address: 

"0  Diva  pegasea,  O  alte  Muse  —  O  Pegasean 
Goddess,  O  lofty  Muses  —  rule  my  feeble  mind 
that  it  may  endure  such  things  and  make  my 
genius  subtle  to  contemplate  them  in  order  that 
if  it  be  possible  for  tongue  of  man  to  tell  of  the 
beauty  of  things  mine  may  succeed  in  telling 
of  them." 

Then,  after  further  prayers  and  promises  and 
after  the  apparition  has  returned  to  heaven,  the 
nymphs  sing  angelically  in  a  circle  round  him. 
And  Ameto  in  joy  lends  his  ear  to  their  song  and 
his  heart  to  sweet  thoughts.  His  old  life  seemed 
repulsive  to  him;  hitherto  he  had  mingled  with 
fauns  and  satyrs;  his  ears  had  been  delighted 
with  only  the  primitive  songs  of  the  shepherds; 
hitherto  the  nymphs  had  pleased  his  eye  rather 
than  his  intellect;  now  they  appeal  to  his  intel- 
lect rather  than  to  the  sensual  vision:  in  other 
words,  to  sum  up  his  long  monologue,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  grown  from  a  brute  animal 
into  a  man.  Whereupon  he  sings  a  hymn  to 
the  goddess: 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  185 

"O  divine  Light  which  in  three  persons  and 
one  essence  governs  the  heavens  and  the  earth 
with  justice  and  love  and  eternal  reason." 

0  diva  luce  quale  in  ire  persone 

Ed  una  essenza  il  ciel  govarni  el  mondo, 

Con  giusto  amore  ed  eterna  ragione. 

And  when  it  is  finished,  the  hour  being  late,  the 
nymphs  depart  and  Ameto  returns  to  his  home. 

Most  characteristic  of  the  morals  and  notions 
of  the  Renascence  is  this  grotesque,  poetic,  alle- 
gorical story  of  Boccaccio's  spiritual  regenera- 
tion. The  mixture  of  paganism  and  Chris- 
tianity— just  as  in  the  "Divine  Comedy" — seems 
to  us  absurd  and  almost  repulsive,  and  what 
shall  be  said  when  we  remember  that  each  of 
these  seven  nymphs  representing  the  highest 
virtues  of  the  Church  —  in  telling  the  story  of 
her  love  begins  first  by  speaking  of  her  husband 
and  then  goes  on  to  reveal  a  state  of  connubial 
irregularity  such  as  could  only  be  rectified  by  a 
Nebraska  or  Chicago  divorce  court! 

In  several  of  the  narrations  delivered  by  the 
seven  nymphs  we  might  find  the  omnipresent 
allegory  of  Boccaccio's  own  experiences.  He 
seemed  never  to  tire  of  introducing  it,  and  we 
find  it  again  in  his  greatest  poem,  the  "Amorosa" 


186         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"Visione"  and  in  the  book  of  sonnets  which  so 
closely  follows  in  plan  Petrarca's  example. 
The  "Amorosa  Visione"  consists  of  fifty  short 
poems  in  the  meter  which  Dante  liked  so  well, 
and  one  may  get  some  idea  of  its  artifice  when 
one  realises  that  it  forms  one  vast  acrostic. 
All  the  first  verses  of  the  terzine  are  joined 
together  to  form  two  tailed  sonnets  and  a  double- 
tailed  sonnet  which  contains  the  dedication  to 
Fiametta.  He  himself  acknowledged  his  in- 
debtedness to  Dante  and  bids  his  book  follow 
modestly  the  great  Florentine  poet,  come  piccolo 
servidore  —  like  a  little  servant. 

The  admiration  which  Boccaccio  felt  lor 
Dante  was  genuine  and  beautiful,  but  even  in 
his  imitations  the  contrast  between  the  two  men 
never  fails  to  appear.  We  see  Dante  stern  and 
almost  forbidding,  a  master  among  prophets, 
striding  along  with  bent  head  and  gloomy  brow, 
viewing  the  earth  as  merely  a  halting-place  of 
trial'  and  sorrow;  consequently  his  ideal  of 
love  is  so  lofty  and  distant  from  earth  that  it 
narrowly  escapes  being  an  abstraction;  on  the 
other  hand,  Boccaccio  is  filled  with  the  worship 
of  earthly  beauty.  Beauty  is  his  religion  and, 
consequently,  love  in  his  eyes  in  spite  of  his 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  187 

endeavour  to  raise  it  to  divine  heights  is  ever  clad 
in  seductive  palpitating  flesh  and  blood.  Be- 
tween the  two  stands  Petrarca!  Is  it  not  indeed 
a  wonderful  trio  to  be  living  in  one  land  at  one 
and  the  same  time  ? 

But  to  understand  the  contrast  between 
Dante  and  Boccaccio  one  must  understand  the 
spirit  of  the  times.  One  extreme  invariably 
leads  to  another  or  even  exists  with  it  sim- 
ultaneously. While  we  have  on  the  one  hand 
the  lofty  mysticism  of  Dante  and  the  bigotry 
of  Saint  Francis  and  the  extravagances  of  the 
flagellants;  on  the  other  we  have  the  new  school 
of  Proven9al  poets  who,  even  while  taking  part 
in  Crusades  wrote  the  obscenest  of  poems;  we 
find  the  scandalous  stories  of  Fra  Salimbene. 
Boccaccio,  as  the  favourite  of  a  corrupt  court, 
did  not  hesitate  to  be  himself  corrupt,  even 
while  he  was  singing  the  praises  of  an  incor- 
ruptible Church! 

It  seems  probable  that  Boccaccio's  step- 
mother had  died  and  that  the  legitimate  children 
had  also  left  the  father  desolate:  he  speaks  of 
the  paternal  mansion  as  being  oscura,  muta  e 
molta  triste  —  dark,  silent  and  very  sad.  While 
Boccaccio  di  Chellino,  now  old  cold,  harsh, 


i88         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  avaracious,  desired  his  presence  he  re- 
turned to  the  home  which  he  had  so  little  reason 
to  love  and  while  dwelling  with  the  father  whom 
he  had  also  little  reason  to  reverence,  he  seemed 
to  be  in  a  melancholy  prison  made  all  the  darker 
by  contrast  with  those  joyous  fortunate  days  at 
Naples. 

He  found  some  consolation,  however,  in  beau- 
tiful Florence,  and  his  ever  susceptible  heart 
was  soon  on  fire  once  more.  He  discovered  a 
young  widow  and  began  to  pay  court  to  her: 
but  while  she  pretended  to  accept  his  homage 
she  really  made  sport  of  him  and  showed  his 
letters  to  another  of  her  lovers.  Boccaccio 
learned  of  this  treachery  and  by  way  of  revenge 
wrote  another  allegoric  vision  entitled  "Cor- 
baccio" — "A  Nasty  Crow."  He  seemed  to  be 
following  a  delicious  pathway  but  it  led  him 
into  a  savage  mountainous  forest  and  a  shade 
appears  —  just  as  Vergil  appears  to  Dante  — 
ready  to  show  him  the  way  out.  While  Dante 
in  the  selva  oscura  understands  the  present  life, 
to  Boccaccio  the  ragged  forest  signifies  love, 
from  which  he  is  liberated  by  human  reason. 
But  the  apparition  is  not  Vergil  by  any  means: 
it  is  the  deceptive  widow's  dead  husband,  who 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  189 

had  been  enjoying  the  torments  of  purgatory 
as  a  penance  for  his  avarice  and  also  for  his  un- 
becoming patience  in  enduring  his  wife's 
wretched  habits.  Now  he  is  dead  and  no  longer 
tormented  by  jealousy,  he  feels  nothing  but  the 
deepest  pity  for  all  those  that  fall  into  the  toils 
of  her  who  had  been  for  a  time  his  earthly  cross. 

At  the  intercession  of  the  Celestial  Virgin,  for 
whom  Messer  Giovanni  had  always  shown 
unusual  devotion,  God  had  sent  him  to  save  the 
poet  and  he  accomplishes  the  grateful  task  by 
saying  all  manner  of  evil  of  women  in  general 
and  of  his  own  widow  in  particular. 

The  modern  reader  would  not  find  great 
edification  in  this  somewhat  irreverent  allegory, 
in  this  catalogue  of  woman's  frailties.  The 
book  would  hardly  be  chosen  as  a  text-book  in  a 
young  ladies'  seminary.  Many  of  the  nettlish 
stings  are  borrowed  boldly  from  the  satires  of 
Juvenal,  but  Boccaccio's  own  experience  fur- 
nished him  with  an  abundant  supply  of  new 
ones.  The  most  harmless  are  those  in  which 
he  depicts  the  vanity  of  women,  as  they  practise 
their  graces  before  the  mirror  or  in  church; 
while  pretending  to  be  counting  their  beads  they 
are  casting  furtive  glances  at  the  men. 


190         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 


in 

This  savage  satire  seems  to  put  an  end  to  the 
most  frivolous  part  of  Boccaccio's  life.  His 
father  died  in  1348  or  1349  and  in  spite  of  his 
irregular  birth  he  inherited  a  large  share  of  the 
old  man's  wealth.  Shortly  afterward  he  en- 
tered into  friendly  relations  with  Petrarca  and 
this  friendship  lasted  until  Petrarca's  death. 
Indeed,  in  a  letter  to  Francesco  da  Brossano  he 
claimed  that  he  had  belonged  to  him  for  forty 
years.  His  first  actual  acquaintance  with  "the 
greatest  glory  of  Italy"  began  in  1350,  when 
Petrarca  passed  through  Florence  on  his  way  to 
receive  the  poet's  crown  at  Rome.  The  fol- 
lowing year  Boccaccio  was  sent  by  the  Com- 
mune to  Padua  to  invite  him  to  take  the  direc- 
tion of  the  new  University.  They  spent  several 
days  together  in  the  famous  garden  in  which 
Petrarca  so  delighted  and  if  only  there  could 
have  been  present  a  shorthand  reporter  —  a 
chiel  amang  'em  takin'  notes  —  what  a  precious 
legacy  it  would  have  been!  We  can  have  it 
only  in  the  imaginative  dialogue  of  Walter 
Savage  Landor.  - 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  191 

In  the  spring  of  1589  they  spent  a  few  days 
together  in  Milan  and  from  this  time  their 
friendship  became  most  intimate.  Boccaccio 
never  let  slip  an  occasion  to  praise  and  venerate 
him  whom  he  called  preceptor  metis.  Petrarca, 
as  might  be  imagined,  exerted  a  highly  moral, 
influence  upon  him,  though  Boccaccio  con- 
fesses that  it  did  not  go  to  the  extent  of  a  com- 
plete regeneration  —  amores  meos,  etsi  non  plene 
satis  tamen  vertit  in  melius.  So  he  confesses, 
and  he  commemorates  in  his  fifteenth  eclogue 
this  exemplary  influence  where  he  describes  the 
shepherd  Filostrafo  as  chiding  Tiflo. 

What  bound  the  two  men  together  was  their 
love  for  antiquity.  Boccaccio  knew  some  Greek 
and  at  Petrarca's  solicitation  translated  Homer 
into  Latin  prose.  That  he  did  not  succeed 
better  was  due  to  the  limited  knowledge  of  his 
teacher,  the  Calabrian  Leonzio  Pilato,  who  at 
Boccaccio's  invitation  taught  in  the  University 
from  1360  until  1363. 

Boccaccio,  under  the  influence  of  the  ideas 
of  his  time,  came  to  look  upon  Italian  poetry  as 
a  foolish  juvenile  occupation.  Thenceforth  his 
later  works,  with  a  few  exceptions,  are  written  in 
Latin.  One,  entitled  "De  Montibis,  Sylvis," 


19*         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Lacubus,  Fluminibus,  Stagnis  seu  Paludibus,  de 
Nominibus  Maris  Liber,"  is  regarded  as  the 
first  modern  dictionary  of  geography.  A  grave 
and  almost  ascetic  book  is  his  Latin  treatise  "De 
Claris  Mulieribus,"  "  Concerning  Famous  Wo- 
men" —  and  yet  even  in  this  he  cannot  refrain 
from  piquant  stories  which  contrast  so  curiously 
with  the  general  spirit  of  the  work. 

Another,  entitled  "De  Genealogiis  Deorum 
Gentilium,"  "Concerning  the  Genealogies  of  the 
Heathen  Gods"  -  is  a  vast  compilation  written 
about  1366  at  the  suggestion  of  Ugo  IV.,  King  of 
Cyprus  and  Jerusalem.  Of  course  his  knowl- 
edge had  its  limitations  and  the  critical  spirit 
was  wanting;  but  such  books,  full  of  super- 
stitions and  fables,  such  quaint  and  curious 
fallacious  theories  as  they  may  be,  were  useful 
in  their  day. 

Boccaccio  was  greatly  honoured  in  his  own 
city.  Three  times  he  was  sent  on  important 
embassies.  In  1365  he  was  at  Avignon  charged 
with  the  duty  of  calming  the  resentment  of 
Urban  V.  against  Florence.  Two  years  later 
he  bore  to  Rome  the  congratulations  of  the 
Commune  on  the  return  of  the  Papal  Court  to 
Italy. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  193 

At  one  time  he  almost  became  a  citizen  of 
Naples  again.  Niccolo  Acciaiuoli,  a  Florentine, 
who  had  gone  there  many  years  before  as  a 
merchant  and  had  risen  to  be  Grand  Seneschal 
to  the  Queen,  made  him  splendid  promises,  and 
feeling  that  he  might  have  leisure  for  his  be- 
loved studies  he  decided  to  go.  But  though 
he  had  dedicated  his  book  "Concerning  Fam- 
ous Women"  to  Andrea,  sister  to  Niccolo  and 
his  flattering  mention  of  the  queen  had  pre- 
ceded him,  he  found  himself  subjected  to  the 
shabbiest  treatment.  The  letter  that  describes 
his  experiences  is  still  in  existence. 

In  1367  he  visited  Petrarca's  daughter  and 
her  husband  Francesco  de  Brossano  and  for  a 
year  or  two  he  actually  lived  in  Naples;  Queen 
Giovanna's  third  husband  offered  him  gracious 
protection;  but  the  year  of  Petrarca's  death  the 
city  of  Florence  began  a  course  of  public  lec- 
tures on  Dante's  "Divina  Commedia"  and  Boc- 
caccio was  invited  to  fill  the  chair.  Boccaccio 
was  the  first  to  write  Dante's  life  and  his  com- 
mentary on  the  works  of  the  great  poet,  though 
it  was  left  unfinished,  contains  many  explana- 
tion which  are  invaluable.  His  salary  was  100 
golden  florins.  He  began  his  lectures  in  the 


194          A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

church  of  San  Stefano  on  October  18,  1373,  and 
gave  them  every  day  until  early  in  January, 
1374,  when  an  attack  of  scurvy,  or  possibly 
leprosy,  compelled  him  to  resign. 

One  curious  little  episode  in  Boccaccio's  life 
seems  to  throw  a  light  on  his  character.  In 
1362  a  monk  by  the  name  of  Gioacchino  Ciani 
came  to  see  him  in  Florence  and  told  him  that 
he  was  sent  by  a  Saint  Pietro  Petroni,  who  on 
his  death-bed  had  seen  a  vision  of  Christ  and 
reading  in  his  face  the  past,  the  present  and  the 
future  he  had  learned  that  unless  Boccaccio 
should  change  his  scandalous  mode  of  life  he 
would  suffer  eternal  torment.  Such  a  message 
from  an  earnest  though  misguided  "crank" 
even  now  might  well  have  an  effect  upon  a  man's 
imagination.  Boccaccio  lived  in  a  superstitious 
age  and  his  alarm  was  aroused.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  following  Ciani's  advice  to  sell 
his  books,  abandon  his  studies  and  burn  his 
Italian  writings.  Fortunately  he  consulted  Pe- 
trarca  who  wrote  him  that  Ciani  was  probably 
an  impostor  and  that  he  had  better  change  his 
habits  but  not  renounce  his  studies  which  had 
been  the  consolation  of  his  past  life.  He  came 
to  his  senses  and  kept  on  with  his  learned  labours. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  195 

In  the  autumn  of  1374  he  returned  to  Cer- 
taldo,  broken  in  health,  and  here  he  remained 
until  his  death  December  21,  1375.  His  will 
is  preserved:  in  it  he  left  his  books  to  Padre 
Fra  Martino  da  Signa;  to  the  convent  of 
Santa  Maria  di  San  Sepolcro  he  bequeathed 
many  sacred  relics  and  other  objects  which  he 
had  picked  up  in  the  course  of  his  life. 


IV 

Just  as  Petrarca  is  remembered  chiefly  by  his 
canzomere,  so  Boccaccio  stands  as  the  represent- 
ative of  the  story-teller  of  the  Renascence.  And 
the  "Decameron"  is  justly  regarded  as  his  master- 
piece; though  just  as  Petrarca  repented  having 
written  and  published  his  sonnets  so  Boccaccio 
declared  in  a  letter  written  in  1373  that  the 
perusal  of  the  book  was  perilous  and  unedifying, 
especially  for  women. 

Mention  of  this  great  work  has  been  purposely 
left  to  the  last.  In  1348  the  plague  was  ravag- 
ing Florence.  Boccaccio's  description  of  its 
horrors  at  the  beginning  of  the  "Decameron" 
stands  in  the  same  category  of  vivid  narration 


196         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

as  De  Foe's  word-picture  of  the  great  London 
fire.  The  device  employed  for  stringing  the 
stories  together  is,  as  we  have  shown,  as  old  as 
the  hills.  Seven  young  ladies  and  three  young 
men  meet  in  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  Novella 
and  agree  to  abandon  the  unfortunate  city.  They 
shut  themselves  up  in  a  beautiful  villa  and  spend 
their  days  in  gay  dalliance,  singing,  eating, 
drinking.  And  when  the  sun  shines  too  fiercely 
they  gather  in  the  bosky  shades  of  the  garden 
and  day  after  day  under  the  direction  of  their 
duly  chosen  re  or  regina  relate  their  gay,  frivolous, 
often  indecent  stories. 

The  name  "Decameron,"  like  that  of  the 
"Divina  Commedia,"  was  a  later  invention. 
Boccaccio  at  first  entitled  the  work  "L'Opera 
di  dieci  giorni"  but  afterward  in  his  quality  as 
a  Greek  scholar  added  the  Greek  title,  which 
means  the  same  thing. 

Boccaccio's  originality  in  this  work  consisted 
in  its  frame  and  in  the  manner  in  which  he  used 
materials  already  extant.  If  there  is  any  moral 
in  them,  it  is  accidental;  the  value  of  true 
friendship  may  be  illustrated;  the  power  of  a 
word  rightly  spoken  is  shown;  it  may  teach 
young  women  to  beware  of  the  snares  of  men 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  197 

and  especially  of  scholars.  But  the  sole  object  of 
the  stories  is  amusement  and  the  remarkable  vari- 
ety of  the  incidents  is  all  bent  to  this  same  focus. 

In  Morley's  "Universal  Library"  are  to  be 
found  forty  of  these  novelle.  There  is,  therefore, 
no  need  to  go  into  any  analysis  of  their  style  or 
of  their  contents.  They  are  like  "the  Widow 
Cruse's  oil  jar";  poets,  playwrights,  novelists 
for  half  a  millennium  have  pillaged  them  and  still 
they  are  as  fresh  and  full  of  life  as  ever.  Chau- 
cer's "Canterbury  Tales"  is  the  first  contempo- 
raneous imitation  and  there  is  certainly  a  great 
resemblance  between  the  two  men  and  their 
genius,  though  Chaucer  is  freer  from  the  affecta- 
tions of  the  pedant. 

Of  course,  as  the  "Decameron"  is  not  an  orig- 
inal invention  with  Boccaccio,  we  can  hardly  say 
that  all  the  collections  of  stories  similarly  con- 
joined are  imitations  of  his  work;  nor  should  we 
have  space  to  mention  half  of  them.  They 
string  along  through  the  ages,  from  "II  Pecorone" 
of  Ser  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  which  was  composed 
three  years  after  Boccaccio's  death,  in  1378,  to 
William  Morris's  "  Earthly  Paradise."  Indeed,  it 
is  a  mooted  question  whether  the  famous  mediae- 
val collection  made  by  some  unknown  monk  and 


198         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

called  the  "Gesta  Romanorum"  was  not  subse- 
quent to  Boccaccio. 

It  may  be  interesting,  however,  to  mention 
briefly  one  way  in  which  these  old  stories  come 
filtered  down  to  us  and  it  will  be  easily  seen  how 
inexhaustible  a  field  it  offers  for  study  and 
research.  Symonds  says: 

In  their  material  the  novelle  embraced  the  whole  of 
Italian  society,  furnishing  pictures  of  its  life  and  manners 
from  the  palaces  of  princes  to  the  cottages  of  contadini. 
Every  class  is  represented  —  the  man  of  books,  the  soldier, 
the  parish  priest,  the  cardinal,  the  counter-jumper,  the  con- 
fessor, the  peasant,  the  duke,  the  merchant,  the  noble  lady, 
the  village  maiden,  the  serving  man,  the  artisan,  the  actor, 
the  beggar,  the  courtesan,  the  cutthroat,  the  astrologer,  the 
lawyer,  the  physician,  the  midwife,  the  thief,  the  preacher, 
the  nun,  the  pander,  the  fop,  the  witch,  the  saint,  the  galley- 
slave,  the  friar —  they  move  before  us  in  a  motley  multitude 
like  the  masquerade  figures  of  carnival  time,  jostling  one 
another  in  a  whirl  of  merriment  and  passion,  mixing  together 
in  the  frank  democracy  of  vice.  .  .  .  It  is  only  the  sur- 
face of  existence  that  the  novelliere  touches.  He  leaves  its 
depths  unanalysed  except  when  he  plunges  a  sinister  glance 
into  some  horrible  abyss  of  cruelty  or  lust,  or  stirred  by  gent- 
ler feeling  paints  an  innocent,  unhappy,  youthful  love.  The 
student  of  contemporary  Italian  customs  will  glean  abundant 
information  from  these  pages;  the  student  of  human  nature 
gathers  little  except  reflections  on  the  morals  of  sixteenth  cent- 
ury society.  It  was  perhaps  this  prodigal  superfluity  of  strik- 
ing incident  in  combination  with  poverty  of  intellectual  con- 
tent which  made  the  novelle  so  precious  to  our  playwrights. 


BOCCACCIO  AND  THE  NOVELLA  199 

To  trace  all  the  plots  of  the  English  stage 
from  Marlowe  toDryden,  from  Dryden  to  Sheri- 
dan, one  would  have  to  read  the  stories  of  Ser- 
cambi  of  Lucca  and  the  300  of  Franco  Sacchetti, 
and  a  century  later  those  of  II  Lasca  and  the 
"Disporti"  of  Giralamo  Parabosco  and  the  214 
novelle  of  Matteo  Bandello,  and  Giraldi's 
"Hecatomithi,"  or  Hundred  Tales,  and  Fran- 
cesco Straparola's  "  Thirteen  Pleasant  Evenings'' 
and  thousands  of  others. 

Just  a  few  examples  of  the  use  that  Shake- 
speare alone  made  of  these  treasure-houses  of 
dramatic  plots  must  suffice. 

From  the  last-mentioned  —  "Le  Tredici  pia- 
cevoli  notti,"of  Straparola — came  several  hints 
utilized  in  "The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor" — 
the  plurality  of  loves  and  the  ladies  contributing 
to  one  another  the  addresses  of  the  same  gal- 
lant. "Much  Ado  About  Nothing"  is  largely 
based  on  the  twenty-second  novella  of  Ban- 
dello in  which  II  Signore  Scipione  Attillano 
narrates  how  II  Signore  de  Cardona,  being  with 
King  Piero  di  Aragona  in  Messina,  falls  in  love 
with  Fenicia  Lionata.  This  was  translated 
into  French  and  it  is  supposed  that  an  English 
version  of  Belleforest  at  one  time  existed. 


200         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"  Measure  for  Measure"  has  curious  parallelisms 
withCinthio's,  the  fifth  novellaof  "Hecatomithi." 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  is  partially  based  on  a 
novel  by  Arthur  Broke  translated  from  another 
of  Bandello's  great  store.  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice"  is  made  up  of  several  strands  but  that 
which  relates  the  story  of  the  pound  of  flesh  is 
found  in  "IlPecorone,"thatisto  say  "The  Dunce 
or  Blockhead, "  being  the  adventures  of  Gianetto. 
While  the  suggestion  of  the  three  caskets  is 
found  in  the  "Gesta  Romanorum,"  "  Cymbeline  " 
is  based  upon  Boccaccio's  tale  of  "Bernabo  da 
Genova." 

These  are  only  hints.  But  they  go  to  prove 
the  proposition  so  carefully  elaborated  by  Count 
Gozzi  that  there  do  not  exist  more  than  thirty- 
six  tragic  situations,  or  the  still  more  scientific 
estimate  of  Signer  Polti,  who  having  analysed 
and  classified  some  eight  hundred  dramas  and 
two  hundred  novels,  reduced  them  to  the  same, 
which  number  may  indeed  be  still  further 
reduced  to  the  classic  number  seven.  Prob- 
ably all  in  last  analysis  go  back  to  actual 
occurrences  or  grew  out  of  actual  occurrences. 
Truth  is  forever  stranger  than  fiction. 


THE    RISE    OF    THE    ITALIAN    DRAMA 

SISTERS  ever  had  a  more  dissimilar 
education  and  fate  than  the  four  who 
are  poetically  and  metaphorically  taken  to 
represent  India,  Persia,  Greece  and  Rome. 
Sprung  from  one  common  mother,  they  became 
strangers  and  foes  and  apparently  the  only 
common  bond  among  them  was  a  parcel  of 
linguistic  roots  so  buried  and  hidden  that  they 
themselves  had  no  knowledge  of  their  united 
heritage  nor  was  it  suspected  until  within  a  few 
generations. 

Back  of  this  family  relationship  is  a  deeper 
reason  why  nations  so  widely  remote  from  one 
another  should  trace  back  their  indigenous 
drama  to  similar  sources:  that  is  the  dramatic 
instinct  implanted  in  the  human  heart.  It  crops 
out  typically  in  young  children  who  endue  their 
dolls  or  toys  with  life  and  delightfully  alarm 
themselves  with  their  own  imaginings. 

Children  vary  greatly  in  imaginative  power. 
So  it  is  not  strange  to  find,  by  analogy,  one 
nation  having  vastly  more  dramatic  or  musical 


201 


202         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

genius  than  another.  National  gods  are  national 
qualities  personified:  Kama-Deva,  the  Indian 
god  of  love,  at  whose  festivals,  at  summer's  be- 
ginning, scenic  entertainments  were  early  pop- 
ular, conditioned  the  Hindu  drama,  of  which 
Sakuntala  is  the  most  perfect  flower.  Strictly 
speaking,  the  Hindu  drama  had  no  tragedy, 
because,  as  Professor  Monier  Williams  says,  al- 
though joy  and  sorrow,  happiness  and  misery, 
are  woven  in  a  mingled  web — good  and  evil, 
right  and  wrong,  truth  and  falsehood  are 
allowed  to  blend  in  the  early  acts  of  the  drama, 
yet  "in  the  last  act,  harmony  is  always  restored, 
order  succeeds  to  disorder,  tranquillity  to 
agitation,  and  the  mind  of  the  spectator,  no 
longer  perplexed  by  the  apparent  ascendency  of 
evil,  is  soothed  and  purified  and  made  to 
acquiesce  in  the  moral  lesson  deducible  from 
the  plot." 

The  magnificent  flowering  of  the  Greek  drama 
antedated  by  centuries  the  Hindu,  though  both 
were  religious  in  origin.  This  connection  of  the 
drama  with  religion  is  universal.  They  may 
be  bitterly  jealous  of  each  other,  but  it  is 
the  jealousy  of  husband  and  wife.  The  very 
word  pulpit  means  stage,  and  the  first  scene 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  203 

was  played  in  front  of  the  flower-crowned  altar 
of  Dionysos. 

The  Greeks,  in  spite  of  their  petty  internal 
jealousies,  were  one  people,  worshipping  the 
same  gods.  Hence  the  task  of  tracing  the  rise 
of  the  Hellenic  drama,  from  the  goat  choruses 
of  the  Dorians — the  very  word  tragedy  hiding 
in  it  the  nature  myth  of  which  the  goat  was 
the  symbol — to  the  lofty  sacred  dramas  of 
Aischylos  is  comparatively  simple. 

But  the  Italian  peninsula  was  inhabited  by 
a  wonderfully  mixed  population.  Not  to  speak 
of  the  pure  Greek  colonies  of  the  southeastern 
coast  and  of  Sicily,  we  may  feel  certain  that  the 
legends  of  ^neas  and  his  descendant  Romulus 
and  of  the  Tarquins  point  to  Greek  origin. 
But  there  were  other  prehistoric  races  inhabiting 
the  country,  and  many  scholars  believe  that  the 
artistic  Etruscans,  whose  language  has  longest 
of  any  on  earth  resisted  all  keys  and  is  still 
a  locked  casket,  were  Kelts.  Keltic  Spain 
contributed  to  the  Roman  drama  its  most  famous 
name.  Wonderful  that  those  dramatic  character- 
istics which  make  the  Irish  the  most  brilliant 
actors  should  have  held  through  all  the  centuries! 
One  might  almost  say  that  every  one  of  the 


204         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

seven  hills  of  Rome  stood  for  a  different 
nationality — Etruscan,  Sabine,  Oscan,  Sikulian 
— whose  mixture  produced  that  world-con- 
quering city.  Even  the  Latin  tongue,  com- 
pared with  the  Greek  or  Sanskrit,  shows  the 
effect  of  violent  friction  and  hard  use,  and 
seems  like  an  older  and  more  wrinkled 
daughter  of  the  common  mother-tongue. 

We  must  not  forget  that  in  a  certain  sense 
Rome  was  or  became  a  great  robber  stronghold. 
Much  as  we  may  admire  the  Roman  sternness 
and  dignity,  we  must  not  forget  that  it  was 
wholly  military  and  aggressive.  Paulus -^Emilius 
ravaged  sixty  cities  of  Epeiros  and  carried  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  Greeks  into  cap- 
tivity; Metellus  and  Silvanus  laid  Macedonia 
waste;  Sulla  plundered  Athens  and  Delphi: 
Pompey  conquered  fifteen  kingdoms,  eight 
hundred  cities  and  over  one  thousand  fort- 
resses; Crassus  brought  ten  thousand  talents 
away  from  Jerusalem.  Every  town  or  province 
which  Rome  laid  hands  upon  became  the  legi- 
timate spoil  of  a  succession  of  irresponsible 
and  rapacious  proconsuls.  It  is  pathetic  to 
read  in  Roman  history  that  Lucius  Mummius 
— most  appropriate  name — caused  Greek  actors 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  205 

to  produce  a  Greek  drama  in  celebration  of 
his  glory  in  sacking  Corinth  and  waging  suc- 
cessful war  in  Greece. 

"The  dramatic  muse,"  says  J.  L.  Klein, 
"was  brought  to  Rome  as  a  slave  and  a  slave  she 
always  remained.'*  Consequently,  Greek  plays, 
original  or  imitated,  fill  no  small  part  of  the 
history  of  the  Roman  stage.  The  indigenous 
Roman  drama,  though  it  did  not  reach  sublime 
heights  commensurate  with  the  power  and  ex- 
tent of  the  Empire,  had  really  a  vastly  impor- 
tant influence  through  tradition.  The  Rom- 
ans were  men  of  action .  They  had  no  ideality, 
no  invention,  they  represented  in  themselves  the 
iron  fate  of  the  nations,  "the  barbaric  zeal  for  con- 
quest and  enslaving  of  other  peoples  goes  to 
found  a  kingdom  of  darkness  in  contradistinction 
to  the  creative  light  kingdom  of  energetic 
poesy.  The  spirit  of  tragedy  shuts  out  the  Roman 
spirit,  just  as  the  freedom  idea  is  exclusive  of  the 
military  spirit  destructive  of  nations."  Klein, 
whose  words  I  have  just  paraphrased,  goes  on  to 
declare  that  the  one  God  of  Freedom  must  be 
composed  of  pure  philosophy;  God's  revelation 
as  spirit  and  self-conscious  thought  of  pure 
religion;  God's  revelation  as  harmony  of  beings 


2o6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  souls,  in  other  words  love  and  of  pure 
art  which  in  its  highest  manifestation  is  tragic 
art.  This  trinity-unity  was  wholly  lacking  in 
the  typical  Roman  character.  Utterly  subver- 
sive of  true  tragic  art  it  must  have  been  when  the 
Roman  audience  demanded  realism  for  action: 
when  Muzio  Scaevola  was  seen  actually 
burning  off  his  hand  and  Hercules,  wrapt  in 
the  poisoned  robe  of  Nessus  mounted  the  pyre 
and  was  consumed  to  ashes  in  the  presence  of 
ten  thousand  spectators;  when  death  in  its  most 
repulsive  aspect  was  presented  before  the  gaping 
throng.  In  such  a  spirit  Othello  would  really 
murder  Desdemona  and  Romeo  really  run 
" Mercutio's  kinsman,  noble  County  Paris" 
through  the  heart! 

If  the  Greek  drama  began  in  graceful 
hymns  sung  with  choric  dances  to  the  beneficent 
God  of  the  Vine — Dionysos,  with  face  equally 
capable  of  joy  and  grief,  symbol  of  life  return- 
ing from  death,  of  resurrection  after  burial,  of 
sorrow  for  past  beauty  and  joy  for  recreated  life — 
the  Roman  drama,  on  the  contrary,  originated, 
according  to  Livy,  about  four  hundred  years 
after  the  founding  of  the  city,  in  an  an  attempt 
to  put  a  stop  to  the  plague  that  had  been  rag- 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  207 

ing  for  two  years.  Livy  says,  "When  the 
violence  of  the  disease  was  alleviated  neither  by 
human  measures  nor  by  divine  interference,  their 
minds  being  prone  to  superstition,  among  various 
means  of  appeasing  the  wrath  of  the  gods  scenic 
plays  are  said  also  to  have  been  instituted — a 
new  thing  to  a  warlike  people  who  had  hitherto 
had  only  the  spectacles  of  the  circus.  But  the 
affair  was  insignificant  (as  beginnings  gener- 
ally are)  and  moreover  from  a  foreign  source." 

He  goes  on  to  tell  how  actors,  or  rather 
dancers,  were  imported  from  Etruria,  who 
danced  to  the  measures  of  a  flute-player  though 
without  song  or  pantomime,  and  how  after- 
wards the  young  Romans  began  to  imitate  these 
and  to  add  jocular  verses,  impromptu,  with 
gestures  appropriate  to  the  action. 

The  Etruscan  word  for  actor  was  (li)ister  and 
these  native  performers  were  called  histri- 
onesy  from  which  our  word  histrionic  is 
derived. 

The  medleys  which  they  performed  came  to 
be  written  in  regular  meter  fitted  to  music  and 
provided  with  probably  conventional  gesticula- 
tion. They  were  called  satires,  or  satires,  from 
a  word  meaning  a  full  dish  or  a  dish  of  mixed 


208         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ingredients.  Some  etymologists  have  connected 
the  word  with  the  Greek  satiric  drama,  which  is 
supposed  to  have  been  invented  by  Pratinas 
about  500  B.  c.,  and  came  to  form  the  fourth 
part  of  Tetralogy. 

"Livius  Andronicus,"  says  Livy,  "was  the 
first  who  ventured  to  substitute  for  the  satire  a 
story  with  a  regular  plot,  and  when,  from  having 
been  too  frequently  called  upon  to  sing  his  piece, 
his  voice  was  ruined,  he  is  said  to  have  obtained 
permission  to  place  a  boy  before  the  flute  player 
to  sing  and  to  have  acted  the  song  with  con- 
siderably more  liveliness  because  the  employ- 
ment of  the  voice  was  no  longer  an  impedi- 
ment." His  first  play  was  produced  in  the 
year  240  B.  c. 

After  this  the  duties  of  the  singers  and  the 
actors  were  separated:  the  dialogue  left  to  the 
latter.  By  this  arrangement  the  stage  business 
was  raised  from  mere  farce  and  gradually 
became  an  art. 

Livius  Andronicus,  it  will  be  proper  to  men- 
tion, was  a  Greek  captured  at  the  siege  of  Taren- 
tum  and  brought  to  Rome  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 
Thus  again  Rome  had  to  go  abroad  for  her  first 
genuine  drama;  and  this  genuine  drama,  com- 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  209 

posed  of  three  elements,  song  with  flute  music, 
dance  with  gestures,  and  dialogue,  seems  to  be 
the  three-fold  root  from  which  we  might  derive 
opera,  pantomime  and  the  play.  Horace  in  his 
noble  epistle  to  Augustus  (Lib.  II.,  i)  also 
gives  an  account  of  the  rise  of  the  Latin  drama. 
He  tells  how  the  early  farmers,  happy  in  their 
small  estate,  after  their  crops  were  gathered 
in,  sacrificed  a  pig  to  Tellus  and  poured  out 
milk  to  Silvanus,  and  offered  flowers  and  wine 
to  their  genius,  and  then  with  their  helpmeets, 
their  children  and  their  faithful  wives,  indulged 
in  the  fescennina  carmina,  which  were  extem- 
porised verses  full  of  raillery  and  coarse  humour, 
of  old  jokes  and  obscene  singing.*  The  Atillan 
farces  of  Oscan  origin  were  also  transplanted 
to  Rome.  Here  was  the  germ  of  the  native 
comedy  and  it  is  far  more  interesting  and  im- 
portant than  the  more  dignified  drama  imported 
with  Greek  statues  and  Greek  rhetoric. 

It  would  seem,  then,  as  if  the  gift  of  impro- 

*  These  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  Carmina  Arvalia  sung  at  the 
festival  of  the  "Creative  Goddess"  •with  hymns  to  the  Lares  agrestes:  only 
one  has  come  down  to  us:  one  example  of  this  religious  litany  sung  anti- 
phonally  — 

Enos,  Lasts,  iuvate, 

calling  upon  Mars  as  Marmar  and  ending  with  a  four-times  repeated 
triumphe:  for  these  are  hieratic  and  priestly:  while  the  feicinnine  im- 
fromptus  were  thoroughly  popular. 


210         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

visation  were  as  indigenous  to  the  climate  of 
Italy  as  the  native  olive-trees.  It  is  an  ex- 
tremely interesting  phenomenon  as  we  see  it 
standing  out  in  those  dim  far-off  days,  and  with 
no  less  distinction  through  the  Middle  Ages 
down  to  our  own  time.  The  survival  of  char- 
acteristics in  nations  is  as  wonderful  as  the 
transmission  of  characteristics  from  generation 
to  generation  of  individuals  and  it  is  hardly 
an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  commedle  im- 
provise, or  improvised  farces,  of  the  fifteenth 
centuries  were  legitimate  children  of  the  com- 
edies that  were  played  in  all  parts  of  Italy 
even  hundreds  of  years  before  Christ.* 

The  name  fescennine  is  commonly  derived 
from  a  town,  Fescennia,  which  the  histories  and 
dictionaries  call  Etruscan  but  which  was 
really  Faliscan;  the  derivation  however  is  far 
more  significant.  It  comes  from  an  ancient 
Latin  word,  fascinum,  from  which  is  derived 
our  word  fascination.  It  meant  a  charm 
or  amulet  worn  as  a  protection  against  the  evil- 
eye,  the  jettatura,  so  commonly  believed  in 
even  to  the  present  day.  It  was  a  phallic 

*  The  action  of  the  Roman  Centunculus  and  almost  his  name  are  pre- 
served in  the  Italian  Arlequino. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  211 

symbol  and  as  such  goes  back  to  the  most  pri- 
mitive belief  of  the  human  race,  in  which  all 
nations,  Greek  and  Italian,  South  Sea  Island 
and  Central  African,  Indians  and  Eskimos,  are 
at  one:  it  points  to  the  great  mystery  of  the 
origin  of  life,  and  hence  its  appropriateness  as 
connected  with  primitive  marriage  institutions, 
and  hence  also  the  conventional  scurrilities 
of  the  drama  that  thence  arose,  innuendoes  but 
perfectly  free  from  malice. 

The  Atellan  farces  likewise  were  so  called 
not  because  they  originated  in  the  Oscan 
town  of  Atella  near  Naples,  but  simply  because 
these  farces  had  what  one  might  call  convention- 
alised fixed  characters  and  a  perennial  scheme 
of  jokes  and  therefore  needed  a  permanent  and 
established  scene.  So  the  ruined  Oscan  capital, 
Atella,  was  chosen.  There  was  no  danger  of 
sectional  jealousies  in  such  a  choice. 

The  principal  characters  presenting  types 
that  became  as  familiar  as  Falstaff  or  Captain 
Bobadill  or  Sir  Andrew  Ague-Cheek  or  Mas- 
carille  were  Pappus  or  Casnar,  the  stupid  vain 
old  man;  Bucco,  the  fat,  chattering  glutton; 
Maccus,  the  filthy,  amorous  fool,  and  Dossenus 
the  cunning  sharper. 


212         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  meter  in  which  some  of  these  were  written 
is  called  saturnine:  it  does  not  sound  so  por- 
tentous when  one  remembers  that  it  is  the  same 
as  we  find  in  that  delicious  poem  of  our  child- 
hood days, 

The  Queen  was  in  her  parlour 
Eating  bread  and  honey:  — 

Dabant  malum  Metelli 
Naevio  poetae. 

Naevius,  whose  plays  held  the  boards  till  the 
time  of  Horace,  employed  this  meter:  only  a 
few  fragments  have  come  down  to  us. 

Sicily  was  an  early  home  of  the  drama. 
Epicharmos  of  Syracuse  is  credited  with  be- 
ing the  inventor,  not  only  of  character  comedies, 
but  of  the  great  type  of  the  parasite.  The  Si- 
cilian influence  spread  as  easily  to  the  north 
as  to  the  east.  Three  of  Rome's  earliest 
dramatists,  Livius,  Naevius  and  Ennius,  were 
Greeks  from  the  south  and  of  course  intro- 
duced imitations  of  Greek  plays.  Ennius 
pater,  as  Horace  calls  him,  copied  Epicharmos. 
History  is  often  reported  as  repeating  herself. 
She  is  the  great  plagiarist.  The  phenomena  of 
the  Elizabethan  age  are  found  in  Athens  and  in 
Rome.  Like  causes  produce  like  effects. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  213 

Greene,  Marlowe,  Kyd,  Jonson,  Shakespeare, 
began  as  actors,  revamped  old  plays,  wrote 
new  ones;  collaborated,  invented  —  all  to  sup- 
ply the  incessant  demand  of  the  stage  managers. 
Going  back  two  thousand  years,  we  find  almost 
precisely  the  same  conditions. 

I  should  like  to  trace  the  curious  analogy 
between  Plautus  and  Shakespeare.  The  humble 
origin,  the  birth  in  the  obscure  country  town, 
the  move  to  the  capital;  the  menial  employment 
in  or  about  the  theatre;  the  wonderfully  ab- 
sorbed education,  the  fame,  the  wealth. 

Titus  Maccius  (not  M.  Accius)  Plautus 
was  born  in  a  little  Umbrian  town  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Appennines  about  250  B.C.,  and 
died  at  the  age  of  seventy.  His  flourishing 
career  was  contemporary  with  the  second  Punic 
war.  In  one  of  his  plays  he  introduces  a 
Carthaginian  slave,  and  the  whole  scene  is  in 
the  Carthaginian  dialect.  The  name  Plautus, 
or  Plotus,  like  the  Greek  Flatus,  signifies  flat- 
footed,  and  it  is  said  that  he  was  chosen  on 
account  of  this  umbrian  peculiarity  to  take  the 
part  of  the  Planipedes  in  the  Mimes.  This  is 
absurd.  No  less  so  the  name  of  Asinius  into 
which  his  ethnic  name  of  Sarcinius,  from  his 


214         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

native  town  of  Sarcina,  was  corrupted.  If 
he  painted  himself  in  his  character  of  Pseudolus, 
as  Lessing  thinks,  he  had  a  swarthy  complexion, 
red  hair,  a  protuberant  abdomen,  a  huge  head, 
keen  eyes  and  immensely  fat  legs. 

If  not  a  slave,  he  did  the  menial  work  of  a 
slave;  but  while  turning  the  miller's  wheel,  he 
was  composing  comedies,  and  at  last  he  rose  to 
his  natural  level,  as  all  talent,  like  water,  must 
rise. 

Only  Livius  Andronicus  and  Gnaeus  Naevius 
of  his  contempories  could  rival  him.  But  they 
were  mere  imitators,  Plautus  also  imitated 
Menander  and  Diphilos  and  Philemon  and 
Apollodoros,  but  he  was  more  than  an  imitator. 
He  treated  his  prototypes  as  Shakespeare  treated 
them  (in  the  "  Comedy  of  Errors"  for  instance) 
as  Corneille  treated  Alarcon. 

He  kept  what  suited  him  and  his  environment, 
and  knowing  Rome,  he  added  those  comic 
creations  which  delighted  Roman  audiences  for 
almost  five  hundred  years. 

Among  the  curiosities  at  the  museum  at 
Naples  is  a  tessera,  or  theatre  ticket,  found  at 
Pompeii  and  containing  besides  the  designation 
of  the  seat  the  title  of  the  play  which  was  per- 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  215 

formed  in  63  B.  c.  and  the  name  of  the  author, 
Plautus's  "Casina,"  which  was  still  popular  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  after  his  death.  Like 
Shakespeare,  his  popularity  seems  to  have  at  one 
time  suffered  an  eclipse.  Horace,  who  probably 
preferred  the  pure  Greek  comedy  (as  England 
till  lately  preferred  French  comedies),  speaks 
slightingly  of  him. 

But  Plautus  is  more  real  to  America  than  the 
Italian  drama  was  before  the  coming  of  Salvini 
and  Signora  Duse.  In  1890  the  students  of 
St.  Xavier's  College,  New  York  City,  per- 
formed his  "Captivi,"  a  play  which  some  critics 
consider  the  best  in  existence.  These  young 
Jesuits  repeated  the  play  as  a  part  of  the 
New  York  State  educational  exhibit  during 
the  time  of  the  Chicago  Exposition  with  great 
success. 

Thus  in  a  certain  sense  Plautus  may  be  said 
to  belong  to  the  modern  drama.  But  even  more 
in  the  influence  which  he  has  exerted  on  all  modern 
playwrights.  Rotrou,  Camoens,  Moliere  and 
Dryden  copied  his  "Amphitruo."  "L'Avare"  is 
a  copy  of  his  "Aulularia."  Regnard  and  Addison 
imitated  his  "Mo Stella ria."  "The  Comedy  of 
Errors"  is  a  variation  of  his  "Menaechmi." 


2i6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Lessing's   "Schatz"   is  an     imitation     of    his 
"Trinummus."* 

Twenty  years  after  Plautus'  death  arose 
another  comic  writer  whose  influence  on  the 
drama  of  Europe  was  destined  to  be  even 
greater  than  Plautus'.  This  was  a  slave  whose 
name  is  believed  to  have  been  Publlpor.  He 
was  born  in  Carthage  and  was  brought  to  Rome 
as  the  slave  of  a  Roman  senator  named  Publius 
Terentius  Lucanus,  from  whom  he  took  his  name 
of  Terence.  As  Rome  and  Carthage  were  then 
at  peace  and  as  Terence  had  not  the  com- 
plexion of  a  Phoenician,  it  is  likely  that  he  was 
the  son  of  some  Celtiberian  colonist  who  had 
been  transported  to  Africa.  He  did  not  know 
Latin  so  perfectly  as  Plautus  and  it  was  charged 
that  Publius  Scipio,  who  was  his  first  bene- 
factor, merely  used  him  as  a  cat's  paw — that 
the  comedies  attributed  to  the  slave  were  really 
the  general's!  It  is  the  Shakespeare-Bacon 
controversy  carried  back  two  thousand  years. 
Undoubtedly  he  had  help. 


*  "Casina,"  which  in  spite  of  its  mutilated  condition  tells  its  ever  fresh 
and  comic  story,  was  imitated  in  the  sixteenth  century  by  Niccol6  Machia- 
velli  in  his  Clizia,  and  by  many  other  Italian  dramatists.  In  the  records 
of  the  Italian  Courts  the  Latin  Comedies  of  Plautus  are  constantly  men- 
tioned at  a  part  of  the  festal  amusements. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  217 

Both  Plautus  and  Terence  wrote  the  commoe- 
dia  palliota;  but  whereas  Plautus,  though  he 
laid  his  scenes  in  Greece  gave  the  local  colour- 
ing, the  customs,  the  characters,  the  style  all 
Roman,  Terence,  catering  to  a  more  cultivated 
audience,  made  his  plays  entirely  Greek.  He 
had  no  invention  but  the  most  refined  art. 
Only  six  of  his  plays  have  come  down  to  us  and 
these  six  have  the  same  set  of  characters  under 
somewhat  varying  circumstances:  the  two  fath- 
ers who  are  brothers;  the  two  sons  and  their 
sweethearts,  one  of  the  girls  marrying  one 
cousin,  the  other  seduced  by  cunning  or  violence 
remains  as  the  mistress  of  the  other  cousin; 
the  indispensable  servant  helping  the  intrigue 
with  his  cleverness  and  aptitude. 

Terence  had  a  wonderful  gift  for  painting 
character  and  morals;  he  had  not  Plautus' 
abundant  and  overflowing  wit.  It  is  a  question 
whether  Terence,  with  what  has  been  called  his 
"  pedagogic  end, "really  succeeded  in  the  teach- 
ing of  morals  so  well  as  Plautus,  who  had  no  such 
end  in  view.  But  Plautus,  in  the  prologue  to 
the  "Captivi,"  recognises  the  moral  end  of  com- 
edy. "It  is  not,"  he  says,  "a  trite  and  elabor- 
ated story,  as  many  others  be,  nor  are  there  in  it 


218         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

obscene  verses  unworthy  of  mention,  nor  per- 
jured panderer,  nor  shameless  jade,  nor  brag- 
gart soldier."  * 

Mommsen,  in  his  "History  of  Rome, "  makes 
a  long  and  elaborate  comparison  between  Plautus 
and  Terence.  Many  of  his  sentences  are  well 
worth  citing,  but  it  deserves  to  be  read  as  a  whole 
and  not  piecemeal.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  liter- 
ary balancing. 

The  legend  runs  that  Terence  perished  159 
B.  c.  in  a  storm  on  the  coast  of  Greece  and 
that  with  him  were  lost  his  translation  of  one 
hundred  and  eight  of  the  comedies  of  Menan- 
der  which  he  was  carrying  back  to  Rome  with 
him.  He  was  only  thirty-five  years  of  age. 

Terence  undoubtedly  had  a  greater  influence 
on  after  times  than  Plautus:  Ariosto,  Aretine, 
Lodovico  Dolce,  Battista  Porta,  Machiavelli 
and  many  other  of  the  Italian  dramatists  were 
directly  indebted  to  him. 

MoliereV'Ecole  des  Maris"  is  Terence:  Shad- 
well's  "Squire  of  Alsatia"  is  Terence:  Man- 
love  and  Nightshade  in  Cumberland's  "Chol- 


*  Nam  pertractate  factast  neque  item  ut  ceterae,  neque  spurcidici  insunt 
versus  immemorabilei:  hie  neque  periurus  lenost  nee  meretrix  mala  neque 
miles  gloriosut. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  219 

eric  Man"  are  modern  representatives  of  Micio 
and  Demea,  Knowell,  in  Jonson's  "Every  Man 
in  His  Humour"  is  M/V/o,  from  the  "Adelphi." 
Sir  Richard  Steele's  "Conscious  Lovers"  is 
Andrea.  Moliere's  Scapin  is  Davus,  the  cur- 
rens  servus;  Aretine's  "LaTalanta"and  Sedley's 
"Bellamira"  are  from  the  "Eunuchus."  Mrs. 
Inchbald's  "Every  One  Has  His  Fault"  is  a  vari- 
ation of  Terence's  "Phormio."  That  wonderful 
German  nun,  Hrothvita,  whose  pious  comedies 
are  one  of  the  precious  relics  of  the  tenth  cen- 
tury, copied  Terence.  The  tale  is  endless.* 

Cicero  placed  neither  Terence  nor  Plautus 
at  the  head  of  the  Latin  comic  poets.  He  says 
Caius  Caecilius  Statius  was  perhaps  the  great- 
est—  fortasse  summus  poeta  comicus. 

He  also  was  a  slave;  but  of  his  forty  or  fifty 
comedies  nothing  is  left  but  a  few  fragments.  If 
only  some  dramatic  Agassiz  would  arise,  who 
from  these  broken  bones  could  reconstruct  the 
whole  organism  of  the  plays!  But  they  are  lost 
forever.  Only  three  names  are  preserved,  and 
these  point  also  to  Menander  and  Greek  origin. 


*  Nor  must  we  forget  that  Terence  also  is  to  be  represented  in  the  mod- 
ern stage  in  his  original  Latin:  the  students  of  Harvard  have  now  enacted 
the  "Phormio"  at  Sanders  Theater. 


220         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Of  Latin  tragedy  only  one  name  concerns  us; 
Lucius  Annaeus  Seneca,  who  was  born  shortly 
after  the  beginning  of  our  era  in  the  patrician 
colony  of  Corduba,  now  Cordova,  in  Spain. 
He  was  brought  to  Rome  when  a  boy,  was  care- 
fully educated,  studied  the  Stoic  philosophy, 
enjoyed  distinguished  honours  under  the  Em- 
peror Claudius,  fell  in  love  with  the  Princess 
Julia,  and  at  the  instigation  of  the  jealous  and 
dangerous  Messalina  was  banished  to  Corsica, 
whence  after  eight  years  of  exile  he  was  recalled 
to  Rome  by  Agrippina,  the  mother  of  Nero.  He 
became  praetor  and  consul  and  tutor  to  Nero;* 
and  being  involved  in  the  conspiracy  of  Piso, 
he  died  the  death  of  a  double  suicide  by  poison 
and  by  bleeding  in  his  bath,  A.  D.  65. 

There  is  a  question  whether  the  tragedies 
that  bear  the  name  of  Seneca  belong  to  the  phil- 
osopher or  to  another  of  the  same  name.  Nor 
does  it  make  much  difference  except  so  far  as  it  is 
interesting  that  the  only  tragic  poet  whose  works 
have  come  down  to  us  arose  from  Spain.  Again  we 
have  the  Shakespeare-Bacon  myth,  like  Proteus, 
ever  changing  its  form  but  the  same  at  heart. 

*  He   acquired   the   enormous  wealth  of   30x3,000,000  sesterces,  and  was 
accused  by  jealous  rivals  of  all  manner  of  crimes. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   221 

There  were  tragic  writers  before  Seneca. 
Horace,  in  his  "Ars  Poetica"  says:  "Our  poets 
left  naught  untried  nor  was  it  their  slightest 
merit  that  they  dared  to  desert  Greek  foot-marks 
[or  paths,  vestigia]  and  to  celebrate  domestic 
events. "  Marcus  Pacuvius,  the  learned  nephew 
of  Ennius,  a  native  of  Brundusium,  who  flour- 
ished about  two  hundred  years  before  Seneca, 
wrote  a  dozen  tragedies.  Lucius  Attius  or 
Accius  translated  Aischylos'  "Prometheus  Des- 
motes"  and  wrote  a  work  on  the  drama  called 
"Pragmatica."  Both  Pacuvius  and  Attius  wrote 
praetextae,  or  tragedies,  based  on  Roman  his- 
tory. Nothing  is  left  of  them. 

Of  Asinius  Pollio,  who,  according  to  Vergil, 
was  worthy  to  be  compared  with  Sophokles,  not 
a  single  line  remains;  all  that  is  known  of  him 
is  that  he  sang  the  facta  regumy  the  deeds  of 
the  kings ;  we  have  only  two  half  lines  of  Varius 
Rufus,  who  received  a  million  sesterces,  or 
five  thousand  dollars,  for  his  "Thyestes"  which 
was  played  to  celebrate  the  battle  of  Actium. 

Only  half  a  line  remains  of  Pomponius  Secun- 
dus,  whose  erudition  and  elegance  caused  Quinc- 
tilian  to  place  him  far  ahead  of  all  others. 
And  of  the  imperial  dramatists,  C.  Octavius 


222         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Augustus  and  Julius  Caesar  himself,  scarcely 
a  plaudite  is  left.  Of  all  those  scores  of  tra- 
gedies not  one  has  come  down  to  us,  a  few 
names,  empty  names  —  the  story  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan drama  anticipated. 

Plautus  and  Terence,  then,  for  comedy, 
Seneca  for  tragedy,  conditioned  the  classic  drama 
of  Rome.  And  Seneca's  six  tragedies  are 
merely  rhetorical;  it  is  a  question  whether  they 
were  ever  performed  on  the  stage.  We  have 
the"  Medea,"  far  different  from  Euripides'  great 
tragedy;  "The  Trojan  Women"  ("Troades") 
formed  out  of  two  of  Euripides'  weakest  plays; 
"Hippolytus,"  also  from  Euripides;  "Phaedra"; 
"Hercules  Furens";  "Thebais"  or  the  "Phoenis- 
sae."  These  are  the  great  names;  and  they  have 
splendid  scenes,  dramatic  situations,  power- 
ful lines.  They  are  the  great  substructures 
which  no  classic  dramatist  ever  dared  to  ne- 
glect. Yet  it  is  strange  that  not  a  single  one  of 
the  praetextae,  or  togatae — the  genuine  Roman 
plays — have  been  preserved.  They  were  so 
called  from  the  conventional  dress  worn  by 
the  actors.  There  were  four  or  five  other 
technical  sub-divisions,  all  named  from  the 
dress,  according  as  they  depicted  the  manners 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  223 

and  customs  of  the  various  classes.  Thus  all 
the  comedies  of  Plautus  and  Terence  were 
called  palhatae,  because,  being  based  on  the 
Greek  new  comedy,  they  were  cast  as  if  in  Greek 
cities  and  the  actors  wore  the  pallium  or  Greek 
cloak.*  Each  different  type  wore  its  conven- 
tional garb.  The  old  man  was  dressed  in 
white.  Slaves  had  a  short,  coarse  mantle. 
The  three  different  kinds  of  parasites  wound 
the  pallium  round  the  body  in  a  peculiar 
manner.  Thus  Euclio,  the  miser,  robbed,  like 
Shylock,  of  his  treasure  by  his  only  daughter; 
Tranio,  the  villainous  servant;  Grwm/o,  the 
trusty  but  awkward  clown  from  the  country; 
Ergasilus,  the  parasite;  and  hosts  of  other 
types  passed  across  the  stage  and  were  projected 
through  the  ages. 

The  verse  of  the  Latin  play  was  imitated 
from  the  Greek  trimeter,  but  had  not  the  elas- 
ticity or  power  of  its  prototype.  It  is  generally 
called  the  senarius,  which  simply  means 
six-footed.  The  curtain,  aulaeum,  was  of  tap- 
estry woven  with  figures;  it  was  let  down  at 


*  In  the  same  way  in  Florence  in  the  sixteenth  century,  besides  the  sacra 
rappresentazione  and  the  farsa,  they  had  the  different  types  of  comedy 
called  classica,  togata  erudita,  osservata. 


224         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  beginning  and   raised  at  the  end    of  the 
play.* 

In  the  early  days  of  Rome,  down  till  late 
into  the  Republic,  the  people  listened  standing, 
as  they  did  in  the  tavern  plays  in  England 
when  the  auditorium  was  called  the  pit.  It 
would  have  been  regarded  as  effeminate  to  sit. 
The  orchestra  of  the  Greek  theatre,  as  in  the 
Latin,  was  devoted  to  places  for  the  senators. 
Attempts  to  provide  seats  were  forbidden  by  the 
Senate.  Nothing  but  temporary  wooden  theatres 
with  wooden  seats  were  allowed  till  the  middle 
of  the  first  century  B.  c.  It  did  not  necessarily 
mean  that  the  actors  were  also  wooden.  The 
chorus  was  placed  on  the  stage  itself  and  its  role 
was  degraded  to  merely  statistical  or  narrative 
recitation,  with  tiba  accompaniment — some- 
thing like  the  choruses  in  the  early  Italian  opera 
texts.  In  one  cast  of  a  play,  entitled  "Clytemnes- 
tra,"  six  hundred  mules  are  said  to  have  appeared 
at  once,  which  led  a  learned  German  to  remark 
that  it  was  the  strongest  cast  on  record. 


*  The  stage  manager  was  called  dux  or  dominus  gregis;  leader  or  lord 
of  the  flock.  There  was  a  regularly  organized  claque  called  conquisitores: 
an  official  called  praeco  compelled  the  audience  to  attention.  Entrance 
to  all  but  slaves  was  free,  but  visitors  had  to  show  their  tessera  or 
seat -check. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  225 

Scipio  Nascica  induced  the  Senate  to  pull 
down  a  half  finished  stone  theatre  begun  by 
the  Censor  Caius  Cassius  Longinus  154  B.  c., 
and  sell  the  materials. 

Pompey  the  Great  built  the  first  permanent 
stone  theatre,  about  a  hundred  years  later.  Even 
he  had  to  make  use  of  a  pious  fraud  to  cover 
the  real  intention  of  the  stone  seats.  The 
enormous  size  of  those  early  theatres  rendered 
accidents  extremely  frequent  and  the  duration  of 
the  custom  of  allowing  only  wooden  ones  is  a 
curious  phenomenon. 

Not  until  the  time  of  Caligula  were  cushions 
allowed.  Catulus  was  the  first  to  protect  the 
auditorium  from  the  weather.  Lentulus  spread 
awnings  of  fine  Spanish  flax,called  corbasina  vela. 

The  stage  (pulpiturri)  was  lower  than  in 
the  Attic  theatre.  The  scena  was  at  first  simple 
and  unadorned.  Claudius  Pulcher,  whose  very 
name  signifies  the  beautiful,  first  decorated 
the  stage  with  paintings;  afterward  enormous 
amounts  were  expended  for  silver,  gold,  ivory 
and  precious  marbles.  Wealthy  Romans  who 
did  not  dare  to  employ  marble  in  their  own 
houses  lavished  it  on  temporary  places  of 
amusement  for  the  people,  ^milius  Scaurus 


226         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

built  a  theatre,  the  scena  of  which  had  three  stor- 
ies, the  lowest  decorated  with  marble  monoliths 
thirty-eight  feet  high;  the  second  with  mar- 
vellous glass  mosaics,  glass  being  then  more 
precious  than  silver;  the  third  with  costly  gilded 
pillars.  The  cavea,  or  auditorium,  held  eighty 
thousand  spectators.  When  Scaurus'  splendid 
Tusculan  villa  was  set  on  fire  by  his  slaves  the 
temporary  accessories  taken  to  it  from  the 
theatre — easel  pictures,  stage  dresses,  ornaments 
— destroyed  were  reckoned  at  three  hundred 
millions  sesterces  or  fifteen  million  dollars. 

It  was  only  a  step  from  this  temporary  mag- 
nificence to  permanent  splendour.  The  remains 
of  Pompey's  theatre  and  porticos  for  centuries 
fed  the  Roman  lime-kilns;  the  fifty  monolithic 
columns  of  gray  and  red  Egyptian  granite  from 
it  afterward  adorned  the  basilica  of  San  Lorenzo, 
thus  illustrating  once  more  the  close  connection 
between  Church  and  stage.  They  now  form 
the  cortile  of  the  splendid  palace  built  by  the 
famous  architect  Bramonte,  of  Urbino,  for 
Cardinal  Rafaelle  Riario  at  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century.* 


*  Cardinal  Riario  was  a  great  patron    of  the  drama  and  had   Latin 
plays  performed  in  the  great  hall  of  his  palace. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   227 

This  utilisation  of  the  glories  of  pagan  Rome 
seems  to  be  typical:  a  few  mutilated  relics  which 
give  a  hint  of  what  they  might  have  been  and 
a  whole  world  of  fragments  used  over  and  over 
again  in  church  and  palace  and  wall.  So  out 
of  the  splendid  drama  of  three  or  four  hun- 
dred years,  in  which  a  Roscius  shone,  scarce 
three  dozen  mutilated  plays  are  left,  and  those 
appear  again  and  again  in  every  dramatic 
literature  of  Europe.  There  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun.  Horace  in  his  day  stood  in 
the  forum  and  watched  the  marionettes,  which 
he  speaks  of  as  the  mobile  lignum  with  its 
cords  or  strings  pulled  from  behind — nervis 
alienis.  The  Punch  and  Judy,  as  we  call 
it  in  its  simpler  English  form  is  a  survival 
of  religion  and  the  devil  of  the  miracle  play 
masquerades  in  the  redoubtable  Gigi.  But 
back  of  the  mediaeval  devil  is  the  evil  or  mis- 
chievous lar  or  genius  which  the  Latin  peasant 
feared  and  worshipped. 

Like  trees  that  have  their  leafage,  flowering 
and  harvest,  and  the  fall  and  decay  of  the 
fruit,  are  phases  of  literature.  The  Elizabethan 
drama  lasted  only  fifty  years  or  so — Puritanism, 
like  a  hoar  frost,  killed  it. 


228         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

So  the  Latin  drama  came  to  its  autumn.  Sal- 
vianus  declared  that  Roman  society  died 
laughing.  Wealth  brought  universal  corruption. 
The  Emperors,  many  of  them  parvenus  and 
sensitive  to  their  imperfections  of  birth  and 
training,  were  suspicious.  Caligula  himself 
touched  the  torch  to  the  living  pyre  of  a  poet 
declared  guilty  of  offending  the  sacred  majesty. 
A  strict  censorship  is  like  an  atmosphere  of 
azote — it  kills  all  living  things. 

The  influx  of  foreigners  into  Rome  was 
corrupting  the  language.  The  ancient  culture 
and  polish,  Greek  though  it  was,  was  growing 
obscured  by  imported  barbarism;  the  fine  old 
drama  was  rapidly  degenerating  into  merely 
spectacular  pantomime. 

When  Christianity  conquered  Rome,  or,  ac- 
cording to  the  quaint  legend  of  the  Italian 
peasants,  when  St.  Peter  found  that  the  keys 
of  heaven  fitted  the  gates  of  Rome  and  took 
possession  in  spite  of  the  Podesta,  the  pre- 
vailing corruption  of  the  drama  attracted  the 
reprobation  of  the  Church  Fathers.  St.  Clement 
called  the  theatre  the  chair  of  pestilence; 
to  St.  Gregory  it  was  the  school  of  impurity; 
to  St.  Basil,  the  workshop  of  lasciviousness  and 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   229 

the  cavern  of  the  devil;  to  St.  Chrysostom,  the 
fountain  of  evil  and  the  academy  of  incontinence. 
While  statues  of  saints  decorated  churches,  the 
pagan  rites  seemed  to  hold  a  spell  over  the 
amusements  of  the  people.  Scenic  games  were 
under  the  auspices  of  Bacchus,  Mercury 
governed  the  gymnasia,  Venus  the  theatres, 
Mars  the  arena,  which  led  St.  Augustine  to 
declare  that  the  theatres  were  instituted  by  the 
diabolical  divinities  of  paganism. 

By  the  end  of  the  fourth  century  the  African 
Church  called  upon  the  Emperors  Theodosius 
and  Valentinianus  to  inhibit  games  and  spec- 
tacles on  Sundays  and  other  feast  days,  be- 
cause people  would  flock  to  the  theatres  rather 
than  to  the  divine  services. 

But  then,  as  now,  the  attack  of  the  Church 
against  the  stage  was  idle,  because  it  was  an 
attack  upon  one  of  the  strongest  demands  of 
human  nature.  The  Church  yielded  and  hence- 
forth guided.  Just  as  she  took  the  heathen 
festivals  and  baptised  them  and  utilised  their 
observances,  so  the  games  and  scenic  repre- 
sentations which  celebrated  the  old  Saturnalia, 
were  kept  up  in  the  carnival  time  which  was 
the  Bacchic  and  Dionysiac  festival  Christianised. 


230         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  priests  found  that  they  could  reach  the 
masses  through  the  eye  more  easily  than  through 
the  ear,  and  hence  the  churches  or  the  plazas 
in  front  of  the  churches  were  furnished  with 
extemporised  stages,  and  dramas  from  the  Old 
Testaments,  from  the  Gospels  and  from  the 
sacred  legends  of  apostles,  martyrs,  founders 
of  the  holy  orders  were  represented  there. 

Some  of  them  were  written  after  the  style  of 
the  Greek  drama  with  protagonist,  deuter- 
agonist,  chorus,  etc.  These  in  Ignatius* 
"Adam"  of  the  ninth  century  were  God  and  the 
serpent.  Such  also  was  "Christus  Patiens" 
which  had  chorus,  semi-chorus  and  pantomime. 
Mary  here  appears  with  the  characteristics  of  a 
pagan  woman  and  declaims,  like  Hecuba  or 
Medea.  It  is  sacred  only  in  argument.  It  is 
said  to  contain  1263  lines  stolen  bravely  from 
Euripides. 

The  Italian  sacred  drama,  or  as  it  is  called 
sacra  rappresentazione,  precisely  corresponded  to 
the  miracles  and  moralities  of  other  European 
countries  and  the  same  subjects  were  chosen: 
Cain  and  Abel,  Abraham  and  Isaac,  Abraham 
and  Hagar,  Haman,  Queen  Esther,  Moses, 
Nebuchadnezzar,  the  Angel  Raphael  and 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   231 

Tobias,  Solomon,  Samson,  Saul,  the  Annuncia- 
tion, the  Nativity,  the  Presentation  in  the 
Temple,  St.  John  the  Baptist,  the  Last  Supper, 
the  Passion,  the  Resurrection.  One  finds  pre- 
cisely the  same  mixture  of  reverent  and  irreverent 
treatment,  the  same  comic  element  furnished 
by  the  devil  and  the  little  devils. 

I  should  not  justify  the  amount  of  time  al- 
ready spent  on  the  early  Latin  drama,  if  it 
were  not  evident  that  the  Latin  tongue  and  the 
Latin  poets,  epic,  lyric  and  dramatic  were  al- 
ways regarded  as  national  to  Italy:  as  the 
phenomena  of  an  early  period  of  their  liter- 
ature. 

Just  as  in  the  days  of  Plautus,  as  in  the 
days  of  Cicero,  pure  Latin  as  we  now  know  it, 
flourished  side  by  side  with  the  lingua  rusttca, 
so  up  to  the  present — one  might  almost  say- 
Latin  and  the  volgare  tllustre,  as  Dante  calls 
his  vernacular,  have  flowed,  like  the  Rhone 
and  the  Saone,  unmixed  and  unmingling. 

After  the  seventh  century  Latin  as  a  spoken 
language  among  the  people  began  to  decline. 
The  oldest  monument  of  Italian  is  said  to  be  a 
manuscript  of  the  year  960,  but  there  were 
a  number  of  dialects  all  more  or  less  founded 


232         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

on  the  ancient  lingua  rustica.*  It  was  the 
boast  of  the  Archbishop  Christian  of  Mayence 
that  he  could  speak  Latin,  Roman,  French, 
Greek,  Apulean,  Lombard  and  Brabant  as 
perfectly  as  his  mother  tongue.  It  has  been 
remarked  that  the  Italian  has  no  traces  of  the 
old  languages — Sabellian,  Volscian,  Oscan, 
Etruscan — while  the  various  dialects  abound  in 
Keltic,  German,  Greek,  Arabian,  French  and 
Spanish  words.  There  is  a  philosophical 
reason  for  this — geographical  situation  and 
trade.  The  pure  Italian  sprang  from  the  middle 
provinces,  which  had  least  connection  with 
foreign  countries. 

Tuscany  was  a  mountainous  country  and 
isolated;  it  was  the  ancient  source  of  art,  and 
here  arose  the  mystic  St.  Francis  da  Assisi, 
the  spiritual  Bonaventura,  the  fanatical  Laudesi, 
the  wonderful  Catarina  da  Siena,  the  artist 

*  As  Latin  declined  the  lingua  rustica,  a  sort  of  native  Volap  k  spread 
among  all  the  former  provinces  of  the  Empire,  beginning  first  at  places 
most  remote  from  Rome  :  the  Romanic  language  or  Romance  grew  into 
Provencal,  French,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  and  finally  Italian.  The  Pro- 
ven?al  became  the  first  of  the  Literary  languages  and  its  noble  array 
of  Poets  or  Troubadours,  as  it  were,  laid  down  the  laws  for  European  lyric 
poetry  not  only  in  France  but  in  remote  Iceland.  The  lyrical  or  epic  in- 
fluence of  these  writers  was  first  felt  in  Florence,  and  Dante  was  its  most 
perfect  flower.  Dante  wrote  no  plays,  but  the  influence  of  his  verse  is 
frequently  visible  in  the  language  and  thought  of  the  sacred  dramas  of 
the  Florentines. 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA  233 

Rafael,  Giotto  and  others.  And  here  was  the 
real  home  of  the  sacra  rappresentazione  in  the 
Italian  tongue,  in  the  noble  Tuscan.*  These 
mysteries  were  composed  by  lords  and  ladies — 
not  the  least  celebrated  was  Lucrezia  Torna- 
buoni  de*  Medici,  mother  of  Lorenzo,  the 
Magnificent. 

The  churchmen  still  clung  to  Latin.  Car- 
dinal Bembo  advised  Ariosto  to  write  in  Latin. 
Dante  used  the  volgare  with  some  hesitation. 
Petrarca  composed  his  letters  and  many  of 
his  poems  in  Latin.  Cardinal  Rafaello  Riario 
had  Latin  plays  at  his  palace.  Pomponio  Leto 
had  a  troupe  of  disciples  called  Pompomancii 
who  in  the  fifteenth  century  played  the  "Asinaria" 
of  Plautus  and  the  "  Hippolytus"  of  Seneca  in 
the  Quirinal,  and  even  in  the  Vatican.  Car- 
dinal Pietro  Riario,  in  1473,  brought  a  troupe 
of  Florentine  actors  who  played  a  Passion  in 
Latin  hexameters. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  enumerate  a  tenth 
of  the  Latin  plays,  ancient  and  mediaeval,  that 


*  The  sacra  rappresentazione  corresponds  to  the  Miracle-plays  in  Eng- 
land, to  the  Geistliche  Schauspiele  in  Germany,  to  the  Auto  Sacramental 
in  Spain  and  to  the  Mysteries  in  France.  One  of  the  earliest  known 
was  "  la  Rappresentazione  di  Nostro  Signore  Gesu  Cristo,"  at  Padua, 
in  1242  or  1243. 


234         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

were  given  under  the  patronage  of  Sixtus  IV., 
Alexander  VI.,  Julius  II.,  Leo  X.  and  the  other 
art-loving  Popes.  It  is  sufficient  for  us  to 
remember  that  the  spirit  of  the  Renascence  kept 
the  popular  drama  in  the  background  for  many 
years.  The  Inquisition  stood  with  drawn 
sword,  as  it  were,  challenging  everything  that 
was  not  provided  with  the  countersign  of  classic 
antiquity. 

The  history  of  the  sacred  drama  (called  in 
Italy  storia,  festa,  misterio,  vangelo,  figura, 
esempiOy  esemplo,  etc.)  is  not  so  tame  and 
monotonous  as  it  might  be  thought.  Besides 
the  various  biblical  or  traditional  characters 
and  the  appropriate  allowance  of  dignified 
angels  and  comic  devils,  there  were  intro- 
duced, according  to  circumstances,  priests  and 
courtiers,  royal  counsellors  and  astrologers, 
doctors  and  judges,  bandits  and  cavaliers,  mer- 
chants and  soldiers. 

These  characters  inclined  to  assume  a  fixed 
type.  Thus  the  soldier  was  always  represented 
as  boastful  and  vainglorious,  given  to  wine  and 
gambling  and  every  form  of  vice,  quite  like  his 
great  prototype  the  miles  gloriosus  of  Plautus. 

In  Florence,  where  literary  Italian  had  Dante, 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   235 

Petrarca  and  Boccaccio  to  condition  its  perfec- 
tion, the  sacra  rappresentazione  came  nearest 
to  the  drama  of  art.  There  were  numerous 
imitations,  but  Florence  and  "the  small  but 
glorious  Tuscan  commune"  best  deserves  study 
and  affords  the  richest  store  of  materials. 

St.  John  was  the  patron  saint  of  Florence  and 
out  of  the  celebrations  of  this  munificent  patron 
grew  the  splendour  of  the  theatrical  pageants. 
The  beginning  of  it  may  be  seen  as  far  back 
as  1283,  when  the  chronicles  relate  how  "the 
city  being  in  a  good  and  happy  state  of  repose 
and  tranquil  and  pacific  and  convenable  for 
merchants  and  artisans,"  a  company  and 
brigade  of  one  thousand  men  and  more,  under 
a  leader,  called  the  signore  dell'  amore,  marched 
through  the  city,  all  clad  in  white  robes, 
with  trumpets  and  other  musical  instruments 
and  celebrated  the  day  with  dancing  and 
dinners  and  other  entertainments. 

Fifty  years  later,  in  1333,  the  celebration 
was  still  more  brilliant.  Two  brigades  of  artists 
(brigade  d* artiste),  one  clad  in  white,  the  other 
in  yellow,  solemnly  celebrated  the  happy  season. 
The  giuocht  e  sollazzi  lasted  a  whole  month. 

The  sacred  drama,  which,  as  I  said,  gradu- 


236         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ally  came  to  the  level  of  dramma  d'arte  was  per- 
formed at  first  by  private  individuals.  Thus 
the  morality  entitled  "Gelosia,"  by  il  Lasca,  was 
put  on  the  zafaldo,  scaffold  or  stage,  by  a  com- 
pany of  young  nobles,  who,  if  one  can  tell  by 
the  prologue,  were  all  friends  or  relatives  of  the 
audience,  all  enamoured  of  beauty,  of  upright- 
ness, of  grace,  of  praiseworthy  manners  and 
virtuous  customs.  Afterward  regular  com- 
panies were  formed,  which  took  their  names 
from  their  saints  or  the  churches  under  whose 
auspices  they  acted. 

The  most  famous  was  that  called  Del  Vangelo, 
or  from  their  seal,  an  eagle,  Aqutlini,  which 
early  in  the  fifteenth  century  recited  or  sang 
the  "San  Giovanni  e  Paulo"  of  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent  and  perpetuated  itself  to  the  end 
of  the  last  century. 

In  1773  the  Teatro  del  Vangelista  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  Academici  Aquiloni.  It  was 
said  of  Lorenzo  (by  the  way)  that  Terence 
and  Plautus  poured  their  muses  into  his  intel- 
lect, as  Neptune  pours  into  the  ground  the  rains 
of  spring  and  summer. 

The  sacred  drama  always  began  with  an  an- 
nunziazione,  or  prologue,  spoken  by  an  angel, 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   237 

and  ended  with  a  licenzay  or  epilogue,  meant  to 
disarm  malevolent  criticism  by  acknowledging 
all  possible  faults. 

The  actors  at  first  were  young  boys,  techni- 
cally called  voci  or  voices.  Their  director 
was  called  festajolo. 

It  is  a  question  whether  women  and  girls  were 
at  first  privileged  to  be  present  as  spectators. 
The  custom  undoubtedly  varied  in  different  parts 
of  Italy.  It  was  on  the  increase  in  the  sixteenth 
century  as  is  proved  by  the  addresses  to  the  donne 
in  the  prologues.  The  presence  of  actresses  on 
the  stage  also  was  allowed  at  very  widely  differ- 
ent epochs.  The  names  of  La  Flaminia,  Polonia 
Zuccati,  Isabella  Andreini  and  Maria  Malloni 
have  come  down  from  the  Florence  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  In  Rome  even  at  the  end  of 
the  last  century  the  appearance  of  a  woman  on 
the  stage  was  regarded  as  scandalous. 

In  Sicily  and  Calabria  and  other  remote 
parts  of  Italy  the  sacred  drama  is  still  performed 
on  festival  days;  so  that  it  may  be  said  to 
belong  to  the  modern  stage,  like  the  Passion  Play 
of  Oberammergau.  A  certain  form  of  it  only 
recently  ceased  in  Rome  itself,  in  the  chapel  of 
the  cemetery  of  the  hospital  of  San  Giovanni 


238         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

for  instance,  in  the  Christmas  and  Epiphany 
representations  in  the  church  of  Sant'  Andrea 
della  Valle.  Now  they  appear  only  in  a  form 
of  plastic  art,  mute  and  painted.  But  there  are 
preserved  examples  of  genuine  dramatic  art 
composed  by  the  Jesuits,  called  pastoraline  or 
rappresentaziom  drammatiche  boschereccie,where 
the  different  animals  come  to  the  manger  of  the 
infant  Jesus  and  praise  Him;  the  lambs  and 
sheep  sing  be'-be'-be',  the  colt  whinnies  hi-hi-hi, 
il  bel  canino  barks  bau-bau-boo,  the  calf  bel- 
lows mu-mu-muha,  the  frog  croaks  quoa- 
quoa-quoa,  the  cats  mew  and  all  the  domes- 
tic fowls  and  the  birds  of  the  forest  express 
themselves  in  the  same  graphic  but  ridiculous 
way.  To  such  a  form  did  the  sacred  drama 
sink  while  its  best  form  was  being  gradually 
usurped  by  the  profane  drama. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  "the  men  of  the 
cinque  cento  found  themselves  in  the  person- 
ages of  the  ancient  comedy  for  the  very  reason 
that  Italian  society  had  gone  back  to  the 
polished  and  splendid  corruption  of  paganism 
and  the  Empire."  L'Ancona  says,  "In  an  age 
that  witnessed  and  supported  with  serious 
scandal  Alexander  VI.  and  Lodovico  il  Moro, 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   239 

that  burnt  Savanarola  and  deified  Pietro  Aretino, 
the  sacred  spectacles  of  the  Christian  Liturgy 
were  no  longer  acceptable  and  therefore  their 
places  were  taken  by  such  comedies  as  "La  Man- 
dragora"  and  "La  Calandra,"  which  by  their 
novelty  and  perfection  corresponded  to  the 
artistic  exquisiteness  of  that  century." 

I  have  not  attempted  to  go  into  all  the 
manifestations  of  the  dramatic  spirit  nor  men- 
tioned every  form  even  of  the  sacred  drama.  I 
have  not  attempted  to  describe  the  farsi  spiri- 
tual! or  the  atti  recitabih  which  were  branches 
of  the  sacra  rappresentazione.  It  is  enough  for 
the  present  to  notice  that  there  has  hitherto 
been  a  certain  unity  in  all  the  diversity  at  which 
I  have  attempted  to  hint.  First  the  continuous 
influence  of  the  classic  Latin  drama  which 
caused  the  comedies  of  Terence  and  Plautus  to 
hold  the  stage  down  to  the  time  of  Machia- 
velli;  which,  secondly,  caused  almost  every 
writer  of  plays,  sacred  and  profane,  to  go  back 
for  his  models  to  these  two  dozen  plays.  "We 
cannot  do  any  beautiful  work,'*  says  Ercole 
Bentivoglio,  in  the  prologue  to  "I  Fantasmi," 
"  without  taking  antiquity  for  our  mirror." 
Church  and  fashion  alike  frowned  on  the  less 


24o         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

conventional  but  more  promising  popular  drama 
and  kept  it  down  for  many  lustrums. 

But  the  change  came  —  there  were  bril- 
liant writers.  Yet,  who  in  the  whole  list  of  the 
dramatic  poets  of  the  cinque  cento  had  a  talent 
equal  to  Machiavelli,  whose  "Mandragora" 
places  him,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Italians,  on  a  level 
with  Moliere  and  Aristophanes  ?  Not  one. 

It  was  impossible  wholly  to  smother  the 
commedie  dell'  arte,  as  the  popular  comedy 
was  called.  It  was  too  deeply  rooted  in  the 
very  nature  of  the  people.  It  went  back  to  the 
Atellan  comedy  of  the  Romans  —  even  the  name 
Zanni  —  our  Zany  —  goes  back  to  the  typical 
Sannio  of  the  Latin  popular  comedy.  The 
deceived  father,  the  rascally  son,  the  clever, 
tricky  servant  are  all  typical:  the  father  came 
to  be  a  merchant  of  Venice;  Pantaleone  or  a 
doctor  of  Laws  from  Bologna;  Gratiano,  the 
servant  lads  from  Bergamo.  These  four  per- 
sons gave  hints  to  Moliere  and  Shakespeare. 

Fully  to  follow  the  rise  of  the  modern  drama 
in  Italy  is  an  almost  endless  task.  We  stand 
as  it  were  in  a  great  plaza  to  which  we  have 
been  led  by  one  of  the  great  Roman  roads. 
From  this  plaza  open  a  dozen  wider  and  ever 


RISE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  DRAMA   241 

wider   roads,   each  of  which    offers  boundless 
fields  for  study. 

The  breaking  up  of  Italy  into  almost  innum- 
erable republics,  dukedoms  and  principalities, 
each  with  its,  to  a  certain  extent  isolated,  civi- 
lisation, each  with  its  own  private  history,  its 
own  court  and  its  own  stage,  renders  the  story 
of  Italian  literature,  and  particularly  of  the 
drama,  most  complicated.  Florence  alone 
would  fill  a  volume,  for  here  was  the  great 
centre  of  cultivation  represented  by  the  Medici. 
Ferrara,  Padua,  Venice,  Urbino,  Naples,  Milan 
and  a  dozen  other  capitals  have  their  own 
history.  Merely  to  read  over  the  names  of 
the  comedy  writers  of  the  sixteenth  century  — 
Dovizio,  known  as  Cardinal  Bibbiena,  Ariosto, 
Bentivoglio,  Alamanni,  Benedetto  Barchi, 
Lorenzo  II.,  Battista  Gilli,  representatives  of 
the  comedia  erudita;  the  Florentines  Firenzuola, 
Cecchi,  Francesco  D'Ambra,  Niccolo  Lecco, 
Alessandro  Piccolomini,  Paraboscho  —  with- 
out attempting  to  mention  their  plays  or  to 
analyse  them,  is  in  itself  tedious. 

There  are  three  centuries  of  pastoral  dramas 
— or  the  commedia  rusticale — the  influence  of 
which  is  seen  in  such  undramatic  writers  as 


242         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the  brightest  example  of  which 
is  the  "Pastor  Fido" of  Guarini.  Then  comes  the 
period  of  theatrical  reform  when  the  French 
influence  was  paramount,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  last  century;  the  name  here  arising  to  pro- 
minence being  that  of  Luigi  Riccoboni,  whose 
"Moglie  Gelosa,"  "The  Jealous  Wife,"  and 
"La  Sopresa  d'Amore"  were  imitated  from 
Moliere.  Girolomo  Gigli  followed  in  his  foot- 
steps, and  we  find  him  creating  an  Italianised 
Tartuffe.  With  Goldini,  who  banished  harle- 
quin or  Leporello  from  his  pieces,  begins  a  new 
era  of  the  Italian  stage. 


VI 

GOLDONI    AND    ITALIAN   COMEDY 


"DOCCACCIO  and  Petrarca  almost  imme- 
diately became  the  joint  arbiters  and 
emperors  of  Italian  style.  Any  variation  from 
their  methods  was  a  sort  of  treason.  Every 
city  and  province  in  Italy  had  a  dialect  of  its  own 
but  the  Tuscan  became  the  literary  language 
par  excellence.  Dante  stood  a  little  too  far  aloof 
in  thought  to  be  generally  imitated  and  so  we 
find  the  novellieri  of  the  sixteenth  century  imitat- 
ing not  only  Boccaccio's  language  but  also  his 
involved  and  complicated  style  and  his  methods 
of  thought  —  his  cumbrous  circumlocutions  and 
rhetorical  flowers;  while  the  poets  in  the  same 
way  copied  Petrarca's  polished  mannerisms;, 
inditing  sonnets  to  their  mistress's  eyebrows 
and  exhaling  more  sighs  than  would  fill  a  bal- 
loon. While  the  Italians,  and  indeed  the  whole 
cultured  world,  may  well  regret  that  an  age 
which  produced  such  splendours  of  architecture 
and  painting  should  have  restricted  itself  to 
243 


244         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Petrarchian  conventionalities  of  verse,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  feel  even  deeper  regret  that  an 
art  so  noble  as  the  drama  should  have  found 
so  little  spontaneous  expression  for  so  many 
years,  should  have  followed  antiquated  models 
and  be  dried  up,  as  it  were,  in  the  hot  press  of 
the  classic  style. 

The  Italians  have  always  regarded  the  classic 
Latin  writers  as  their  own  particular  glory. 
This  is  a  simple  explanation  of  the  phenomenon 
that  meets  us  all  through  the  Middle  Ages  and 
down  into  the  sixteenth  century  —  that  every 
great  Italian  laid  more  stress  upon  his  works  in 
Latin  than  those  in  the  vernacular.  The  great 
Italian  nobles  and  the  princely  prelates  of  the 
Church  had  plays  performed  at  their  palaces, 
but  there  was  no  call  for  original  tragedies  or 
comedies.  Indeed,  original  dramas  in  the  ver- 
nacular would  have  been  frowned  upon  in  those 
courts. 

It  is  remarkable  to  read  in  the  records  of  the 
different  cities  how  many  times  the  comedies 
of  Terence  and  Plautus  were  performed.  In 
this  respect  they  may  be  said  to  be  even  more 
modern  than  many  that  were  written  fifteen 
hundred  years  later.  And  it  is  not  strange  that 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  245 

just  as  Petrarca  and  Boccaccio  stamped  their 
characteristics  on  lyric  poetry  and  the  novella, 
so  at  the  time  of  the  Renascence,  when  there 
was  such  a  revival  of  classical  learning,  Plautus 
and  Terence  should  have  become  the  models 
of  the  comic  drama.  And  the  Miracle  Play,  or 
as  it  was  called  in  Italy,  la  sacra  rappresen- 
tazione,  from  which  in  other  countries  the  na- 
tional drama  was  logically  derived,  was  kept  so 
long  undeveloped.  In  this  respect  the  Renas- 
cence undoubtedly  failed  of  its  highest  in- 
fluence and  effect. 

At  first  the  plays  of  la  sacra  rappresentazione, 
corresponding  loosely  to  the  English  Miracle 
Plays  and  Moralities,  were  given  in  Latin  and 
as  this  was  the  language  of  the  Church,  it  gave 
a  more  solemn  character  to  the  action  than 
would  be  gathered  from  the  contents.  For  in 
Italy  as  elsewhere  they  were  designed  to  afford 
the  people  pleasure  and  amusement  as  well  as 
instruction:  the  comedy  generally  lay  in  the 
antics  and  final  discomfiture  of  the  devils  and  of 
the  bad  characters  who  fell  into  their  clutches. 
The  very  name  harlequin  seems  to  be  derived 
from  a  word  signifying  a  little  devil  —  hell-kin, 
When  the  Latin  was  replaced  by  the  volgare 


the  jealousy  of  the  Church  authorities  began  to 
be  aroused  and  the  buffooneries  and  the  irrever- 
ence caused  by  familiar  treatment  of  Scripture 
themes  were  exiled  from  the  churches.  When 
this  change  took  place  it  is  difficult  if  not  im- 
possible to  determine,  but  doubtless  it  varied  in 
different  parts  of  Italy:  the  orange  tree  bears 
blossoms  and  ripened  fruit  at  the  same  time. 
There  are  records  of  public  festivals  or  ludi  at 
Padua  early  in  the  thirteenth  century,  between 
1208  and  1243  —  and  at  Friuli  about  a  hundred 
years  later — 1298-1313;  but  it  is  not  known 
whether  they  were  in  pantomimes  or  in  dialogue 
or  in  a  mixture  of  both.  The  natural  tendency 
of  the  human  mind  explains  the  gradual  intro- 
duction of  popular  contemporary  characters 
into  the  sacre  rappresentaziom,  and  most  ter- 
rible or  comical  anachronisms  resulted.  The 
argot  or  slang  of  the  people  had  an  even  more 
comic  effect  than  usual  when  contrasted  with 
the  exaggerated  solemnity  of  the  Biblical  char- 
acters or  the  Virtues  personified.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  a  powerful  impulse  toward  a 
popular  drama  in  the  language  of  the  common 
people  is  found  in  that  terrible  manifestation 
of  superstition  which  began  in  Perugia  about 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  247 

the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  and  spread 
all  over  Europe.  It  has  been  treated  by  pic- 
torial art  in  an  enormous  painting  where  the 
extravagances  of  the  flagellants  are  shown  in 
vivid  colours.  These  hysterical  companies  of 
self-tormentors  had  their  semi-dramatic  and 
lyrical  songs,  called  lauda  dramatica,  and  from 
these  Professor  D'Ancona  derives  the  so-called 
Maggio  of  the  Italian  peasantry. 

Feo  Balcari,  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  Ber- 
nardo Pulci  and  his  wife,  Antonia,  contributed 
to  the  sacra  rappresentazione;  great  artists 
like  II  Brunelleschi  and  Bernardo  Buontalenti, 
took  charge  of  the  scenic  effects,  which  were 
often  magnificent.  Florence  especially  excelled 
in  these  semi-sacred  entertainments  and  the 
memory  of  those  given  in  1471  by  Galeazzo 
Maria  Duke  of  Milan,  in  1494  by  Charles  VIII. 
and  in  1566  by  Joanna  of  Austria  is  preserved 
in  contemporary  chronicles. 

The  moral  teaching  easily  escaped  when 
a  corrupt,  degenerate  and  luxurious  class 
found  more  to  interest  them  in  sinners  than  in 
saints,  when  beauty  ranked  superior  to  virtue. 
But  this  was  the  transition  step  to  genuine 
comedy. 


248         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

The  Italians  had  a  certain  natural  artistic 
instinct.  There  was  probably  never  played  at 
Florence  or  Venice  a  miracle  play  like  that  acted 
at  Bourges  which  occupied  forty  days  and  had 
several  hundred  actors.  The  Italian  trionfi 
rarely  exceeded  one  or  two  days;  but  astrologers, 
heretical  savants,  physicians,  courtiers,  mer- 
chants, counsellors,  tavern-keepers,  robbers, 
soldiers,  servants,  peasants  —  indeed  all  the 
types  of  the  people  —  exaggerated  and  rendered 
as  comical  as  possible  by  personal  defects,  such 
as  humpbacks  and  lamenesses  —  were  intro- 
duced for  the  same  purpose  —  to  raise  a  laugh. 

So  it  was  only  a  step  from  this  sacra  rappre- 
sentazione  to  a  genuinely  national  comedy. 
The  revival  of  classical  learning  postponed  that 
step  for  centuries.  The  miracle  play,  shorn  of 
its  worldly  adornment,  became  a  monk  and 
retired  from  the  popular  stage  into  the  halls 
of  the  monasteries,  where  it  dragged  out  a  miser- 
able existence.  A  relic  of  it  survived  in  the 
pantomime  and  the  exhibitions  of  Punch  and 
Judy.  Even  to  this  day  the  Italian  puppet- 
shows  take  on  an  importance  which  is  to  be  met 
with  nowhere  else.  The  courts  of  the  great 
Italian  princes  adopted  as  a  sort  of  fad  the  com- 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  249 

edies  of  the  ancient  Latins  and  from  this  arose  the 
so-called  cammed ia  erudita.  What  might  not 
such  a  genius  as  Boccaccio  have  done  with  all  his 
sense  of  humour  had  the  spirit  of  his  age  turned 
him  to  the  stage  instead  of  the  boudoir!  But 
it  was  largely  Boccaccio  himself  who  brought 
about  the  study  and  worship  of  classical  models. 

The  direct  influence  of  Plautus  and  Terence 
is  thought  to  be  first  discoverable  by  some  in 
the  "Cassaria"  and  "I  Suppositi"  of  Ariosto,  by 
others  in  the  "Amicizia"  of  Jacopo  Nardi,  by 
still  others  in  the  "Cassandra"  of  Cardinal  Bib- 
biena.  It  is  probably  impossible  to  determine 
very  definitely;  possibly  the  lost  comedy  of 
Petrarca  — the  "Philogia"  —  may  have  been  in- 
spired by  the  same  models.  There  is  nothing 
more  difficult  than  to  award  priority,  especially 
when  several  claim  it  and  the  new  invention  is 
in  the  very  air. 

In  Ariosto's  "Cassaria,"  which  is  still  read  as  a 
curiosity,  if  not  for  pleasure,  there  are  eighteen 
characters  and  all  but  four  are  representatives  of 
the  common  people — servants,  ruffians,  and  two 
women.  It  is  in  fact  a  sort  of  anticipation  of 
"La  Dame  aux  Camelias."  The  action  has  some 
life  and  the  intrigues  are  developed  with  some 


250         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

artistic  cleverness.  Ariosto's  masterpiece  is  "I 
Suppositi,"  which  was  translated  into  English  by 
George  Gascogne  under  the  title  "The  Sup- 
poses" and  acted  at  Gray's  Inn  thirty-three 
years  after  Ariosto's  death  in  1566  —  the  first 
English  prose  drama. 

A  young  man  of  noble  birth  desiring  to  make 
his  way  into  his  lady-love's  house  assumes  the 
dress  of  his  servant;  the  servant  passes  himself 
ofFas  the  padrone  and  a  fictitious  father  pretends 
to  arrange  for  a  marriage.  Unfortunately  the 
real  father  arrives  upon  the  scene  and  the  pro- 
tests and  counterclaims  afford  much  amusement. 
But  at  last  all  ends  happily  with  marriage  and  the 
recognition  of  a  long  lost  son.  Here  though  the 
plot  is  not  new  there  is  some  attempt  to  draw 
the  characters  from  real  life :  powers  of  observa- 
tion are  expended  to  some  purpose:  the  senti- 
mental young  man,  the  faithful  servant,  the  para- 
site, that  relic  of  Greek  days,  the  lusty  old  doc- 
tor, the  good  father  and  the  enamoured  maiden. 

7  O 

Few  towns  in  Italy  at  that  day  had  theatres  but, 
Pope  Leo  X.  is  said  to  have  built  one  on  the 
capitol  at  Rome  capable  of  holding  ten  thousand 
people  and  such  an  audience  saw  "I  Suppositi" 
in  1513.  The  Pope  sat  at  the  entrance  to  the 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  251 

gallery  leading  into  the  theatre  and  gave  his 
benediction  to  those  whom  he  thought  worthy 
of  listening  to  the  polished  obscenities  of  the 
play.  Rafael  painted  the  scenery.  The  am- 
bassadors of  foreign  countries  were  scandalised 
at  seeing  the  Pope  seated  eye-glass  in  hand 
listening  and  laughing  at  the  equivocal  jests. 

Ariosto,  called  the  Divine,  the  popular  poet 
of  the  Orlando,  wrote  several  other  comedies 
and  left  one  unfinished  —  the  "Scolastica,"  the 
scene  of  which  is  laid  in  his  own  home-town, 
Ferrara.  The  heroes,  Claudio  and  Eurialo, 
are  young  law-students  who  are  in  love  and  are 
anxious  to  conceal  that  fact  from  their  respective 
sires.  Eurialo's  innamorata,  at  the  end  proves 
to  be  his  father's  lost  ward:  so  his  objection 
vanishes  and  with  good  reason:  through  the 
father's  broken  faith  the  girl  had  been  reduced 
to  poverty  and  servitude  and  the  son's  disobe- 
dience is  a  suitable  punishment.  This  sounds 
like  a  variation  of  one  of  the  comedies  of  Ter- 
ence. But  here  the  characters  are  admirably 
original  and  admirably  contrasted:  the  best  is 
Bonifazio  the  lodging-house-keeper  who  de- 
clares that  he  likes  to  help  the  young  student, 
is  willing  to  tell  a  dozen  lies  to  keep  the  lady  on 


252         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

good  terms  with  his  father,  "  for  verily  to  help  a 
poor  lover  doth  not  appear  to  me  a  servile  task 
but  rather  the  duty  of  a  gentle  spirit."  Nothing 
gives  a  better  idea  of  the  need  of  the  Reforma- 
tion than  the  satiric  element  of  this  play:  as  for 
example  in  the  scene  between  the  conscience- 
burdened  father,  Bartolo,  and  the  friar  who  tells 
him  that  his  sin  can  be  commuted  for  some  pious 
work;  there  is  no  duty  or  law  in  the  world  so  pow- 
erful, he  says,  that  it  cannot  be  relaxed  with  alms. 

Unfortunately  for  the  dramatic  art  the  cor- 
ruption that  reigned  throughout  Italy  like  a 
growth  of  poisonous  weeds  in  a  tropical  jungle 
made  itself  especially  felt  in  the  domain  of  com- 
edy. No  situation  was  too  gross,  no  dialogue  too 
unseemly  for  the  taste  of  an  aristocracy  boast- 
ing itself  guilty  of  all  the  cardinal  sins.  Almost 
the  first  of  these  comedies  of  mingled  gold  and 
ordure  is  attributed  to  a  cardinal  of  the  Apostolic 
Church. 

Barnardo  Dovizio  —  who  had  vice  in  his 
very  name  —  was  born  at  Bibbiena  in  1470. 
He  received  the  scarlet  baretta  of  cardinal  in 
1513  from  his  master  Giovanni  de'  Medici. 
The  "Calandria"  was  first  performed  about  five 
years  before  he  became  cardinal  and  its  imme- 


diate  success  was  attributed  to  its  ingenious 
union  of  the  humour  of  Boccaccio  with  the  plot 
of  Plautus :  in  other  words  he  adapted  Boccaccio 
to  the  classic  stage.  The  title  is  derived  from  the 
character  Calandro,  a  simpleton,  as  the  names 
implies.  It  is  a  frank  variation  of  the  "Men- 
aechmi."  The  "Menaechmi"  itself  was  given  in 
Ferrara  in  1486  at  a  cost  of  1,000  ducats;  two 
years  later  it  was  performed  at  Florence  by  the 
pupils  of  Paolo  Comparini,  who  wrote  a  pro- 
logue to  it,  and  again,  in  1502,  on  the  occasion  of 
Lucrezia  Borgia's  espousal  to  the  Duke  of 
Ferrara.  The  prose  prologue,  while  confessing 
the  plagiarism,  defends  it.  "  If  any  one  should 
say  the  author  is  a  great  robber  of  Plautus,  let 
us  assert  on  the  other  hand  that  Plautus  well 
deserves  being  robbed,  for  being  such  a  block- 
head [moccicone]  as  to  leave  his  things  unlocked 
and  unguarded  in  the  world." 

Plautus,  as  we  well  know,  was  equally  un- 
scrupulous in  despoiling  the  Greek  Menander, 
and  we  do  not  think  the  less  of  Shakespeare 
because  he  despoiled  the  unknown  author  of  the 
"  Comedy  of  Errors, "  which  is  based  upon  the 
same  original. 

Cardinal  Bibbiena  at  least  gave  new  names 


254         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

to  old  types,  and  the  contrast  between  the  astute 
Fessenio  and  the  numbskull  Calandro  is  ex- 
tremely comical,  especially  where  Calandro  is 
persuaded  to  get  into  the  coffer  and  when  after- 
ward the  sbirri  —  the  constables  —  shut  up  the 
coffer  and  Calandro  perceives  that  they  are  going 
to  fling  him  into  the  river.  The  comic  element 
furnished  by  Lidio  and  Santilla,  the  twins  so 
alike  that  the  servant  cannot  tell  which  is  the 
real  lover  of  her  mistress,  is  of  course  familiar 
to  us  both  on  the  stage  and  also,  we  might  say,  in 
real  life.  This  play  was  performed  with  great 
splendour  of  scenery  and  costume  at  Urbino: 
with  masques,  morris-dances,  and  conceits  of 
stringed  instruments.  Leo  X.  in  1514,  produced 
it  on  his  private  stage  at  the  Vatican  to  enter- 
tain the  Marchioness  Isabella  of  Mantua. 

The  name  of  Machiavelli  is  better  known  in 
politics  than  in  literature,  and  owing  to  his 
advocacy  of  unscrupulous  methods  has  assumed 
a  sinister  meaning.  As  Voltaire  put  it,  a  man 
who  would  ruin  a  neighbour  lest  he  himself 
should  be  ruined  and  assassinate  a  friend  lest  the 
friend  should  grow  strong  enough  to  kill  him 
would  be  said  to  be  carried  away  by  the  grand 
principles  of  Machiavellianism. 


GOLDINI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  255 

But  Machiavelli  exerted  a  great  influence 
as  a  playwright.  Four  comedies  are  attributed 
to  him.  Two  of  these  are  regarded  as  doubtful, 
the  other  two  are  the  "Clizia,"  which  is  partially 
imitated  from  the  "Casina"  of  Plautus  and  the 
"Mandragora"or"Mandragola,"  "  Mandrake," 
so  called  from  the  drug,  mandrake,  which  plays 
such  an  important  function  in  the  play.  Both 
of  them  were  written  in  the  full  maturity  of 
Machiavelli's  powers  but  after  he  had  fallen 
from  his  high  estate.  They  are  the  work  of  a 
disappointed  man  and  if  they  stood  alone  it 
might  be  reasonably  conjectured  that  they  mis- 
represented the  condition  of  the  society  which 
they  depict  and  satirise.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  the  horrible  pictures  of  depravity  which 
these  plays  present  and  which  render  it  impos- 
sible to  analyse  them  are  only  an  echo  of  a  state 
of  morals  constantly  growing  more  and  more 
corrupt  and  rotten. 

The  courts  of  the  princes  and  of  the  Popes 
being  utterly  demoralised,  the  clergy  con- 
taminated with  the  worst  vices,  family  life 
vitiated  by  the  influence  of  the  nobles  and  the 
priests,  naturally  enough  the  stream  could  not 
go  above  its  source:  there  was  no  general  public 


256         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

to  demand  great  things  of  those  that  purveyed 
their  amusement.  Consequently  we  find  these 
horribly  immoral  plays  of  Bibbiena  and  Ma- 
chiavelli,  sparkling  as  they  are  with  the  keenest 
wit,  constructed  with  abundant  skill,  presenting 
wonderfully  vivid  types  of  a  society  happily 
now  no  more  (we  should  hope!)  and  echoed 
for  a  century  literally  by  thousands,  built  on  the 
same  models,  illustrating  countless  phases  of 
real  life,  furnishing  the  playwrights  of  France 
and  England  with  multitudes  of  brilliant  scenes, 
borrowed  and  stolen  and  now  buried  and  mostly 
forgotten. 

Nothing  in  the  world  is  sadder  than  to  con- 
template a  civilisation,  brilliant  and  capable  of 
splendid  works  of  art  going  to  decay.  Italy  dis- 
membered, robbed  of  the  heritage  of  its  freedom, 
crushed  by  the  Inquisition,  lay  like  a  goddess 
blinded  and  flung  upon  a  filthy  dungheap. 
Even  when  the  road  seemed  open  to  great  things 
there  was  no  leader  to  bring  the  art  to  triumph. 

Had  Aretino  possessed  the  genius  he  might 
possibly  have  entirely  freed  the  Italian  stage 
from  the  so-called  Latinising  tendencies.  He 
took  bold  steps  in  this  direction.  The  tradi- 
tions of  the  classic  drama  forbade  more  than 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  257 

a  certain  number  of  characters  on  the  stage  at 
the  same  time,  nor  allowed  the  same  person  to 
enter  more  than  a  certain  number  of  times  in 
one  piece.*  He  says  in  his  prologue  to  "La  Cor- 
tigiana,"  "  If  you  behold  the  personages  come 
upon  the  scene  more  than  five  times,  do  not 
laugh;"  and  in  still  another  prologue,  that  to 
"Orazia,"  he  refuses  to  copy  the  style  of  Petrarca 
and  Boccaccio  —  not  through  ignorance,  he 
says,  because  he  knows  what  they  are.  "I 
laugh  at  the  pedants,"  he  adds,  "who  conceive 
that  learning  consists  in  the  Greek  language, 
placing  all  their  repute  in  the  bus  and  the  bas 
of  the  grammar."  If  he  had  been  a  Shakespeare 
or  even  a  Machiavelli  he  might  have  taken  the 
Italian  farsa,  and  lifted  it  to  the  level  of  a 
national  drama. 

Gianmaria  Cecchi,  the  most  prolific  of  the 
writers  of  the  sixteenth  century  says  in  his  pro- 
logue to  his  "Romanesca"  that  the  farsa  stands 
between  tragedy  and  comedy,  enjoying  the 
liberties  of  both  and  shunning  their  limitations, 
for  it  receives  into  its  ample  boundaries  great 


*  "Mandragora"  has  only  eight  dramatis  persona,  "La  Cortigiana"  has 
twenty-four.  His  Jpocrito  anticipates  Moliere's  Tartaffe:  chi  non  sa 
fingere  non  sa  vivere. 


258         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

lords  and  princes,  which  comedy  does  not,  and, 
like  a  hospital  or  inn,  welcomes  the  vilest  and  the 
most  plebeian  of  the  people  to  whom  Dame 
Tragedy  has  never  deigned  to  stoop.  It  accepts 
all  subjects  —  grave  and  gay,  profane  and 
sacred,  urbane  and  rude,  sad  and  pleasant.  The 
scene  may  be  laid  in  a  church  or  a  public  square, 
wherever  you  please;  and  if  one  day  is  not  long 
enough,  two  or  three  may  be  employed.  This 
modern  mistress  of  the  stage  is  the  most  amus- 
ing, the  most  appropriate,  the  sweetest,  prettiest 
country  lass — foresozza —  to  be  found  on  earth. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  he  calls  the  farsa  the 
modern  mistress  of  the  stage.  If  modern  she 
had  a  long  ancestry  and  if  not  so  distinguished 
as  that  of  the  commedia  erudita,  it  probably 
went  even  farther  back,  into  the  most  ancient 
times.  For,  as  one  must  constantly  remember, 
the  Latin  stage  as  represented  by  Seneca,  Plau- 
tus  and  Terence,  was  only  a  variation  of  the 
Greek  originals,  while  the  genuine  Latin  plays 
of  native  origin,  whether  tragic  or  historic  or 
comic,  were  largely  improvisations  and  there- 
fore perished  utterly.  Only  their  spirit  re- 
mained and  informed  the  sacra  rappre- 
sentazione. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  259 

Cecchi  did  away  with  the  unities  and  the  old 
traditions  that  a  comedy  must  be  in  five  acts; 
he  freely  introduced  the  dialect  speech  of  the 
common  people  and  both  in  his  dialogue  and  in 
his  rapidity  of  composition  he  seems  to  have 
been  very  much  like  Goldoni.  He  declared  in 
the  prologue  to  "Le  Maschere"  that  he  never  spent 
more  than  ten  days  on  any  one  of  his  comedies. 

Unfortunately  for  Italy  there  was  no  demand 
for  the  elaboration  of  the  farsa  and  so  she  had 
to  wait  for  two  hundred  years  before  she  was 
emancipated  from  the  tyranny  of  the  unities. 
Symonds  says:  "Society  was  in  dissolution  and 
men  lived  for  the  moment  careless  of  conse- 
quences. The  immorality  of  the  theatre  was  at 
once  a  sign  and  a  source  of  this  corruption." 

"Oh  times!  Oh  manners!"  exclaims  Lelius 
Giraldus,  "the  obscenities  of  the  stage  return  in 
all  their  foulness.  Plays  are  acted  in  every  city 
which  the  common  consent  of  Christendom  had 
banned  because  of  their  depravity.  Now  the 
very  prelates  of  the  Faith,  our  nobles,  our 
princes,  bring  them  back  again  among  us  and 
cause  them  to  be  publicly  presented.  Nay, 
priests  themselves  are  eagerly  ambitious  of  the 
infamous  title  of  actors,  in  order  to  bring  them- 


26o         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

selves  into  notoriety  and  to  enrich  themselves 
with  benefices." 

One  more  paragraph  from  Symonds  is  apro- 
pos: "It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  im- 
morality of  the  comic  stage  consists  in  the 
licence  of  language,  incident  or  plot.  Had 
this  been  all,  we  should  hardly  be  justified  in 
drawing  a  distinction  between  the  Italians  of 
the  Renascence  and  our  own  Elizabethan  play- 
wrights. It  lies  far  deeper  —  in  the  vicious 
philosophy  of  life,  paraded  by  the  authors  in  the 
absence  of  any  didactic  or  satirical  aim.  Moliere, 
while  exposing  evil,  teaches  by  example.  A 
canon  of  goodness  is  implied,  from  which  the 
deformity  of  sin  and  folly  are  deflections.  But 
Machiavelli  and  Aretino  paint  humanity  as 
simply  bad.  The  palm  of  success  is  awarded 
to  unscrupulous  villainy.  An  incapacity  for 
understanding  the  immutable  power  of  moral 
beauty  was  the  main  disease  of  Italy.  If  we 
seek  the  cause  of  this  internal  cancer,  we  must 
trace  the  history  of  Italian  thought  and  feeling 
back  to  the  age  of  Boccaccio;  and  we  shall 
probably  form  an  opinion  that  misdirected 
humanism  blinded  with  the  impieties  of  a 
secularised  papacy,  the  self-indulgence  of  the 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  261 

despots  and  the  coarse  tastes  of  the  bourgeoisie 
had  sapped  the  conscience  of  society." 

I  ought  to  mention  with  a  word  the  comedies 
of  Anton  Francesco  Grazzini.  He  was  generally 
called  //  Lasca,  the  roach,  referring  to  the  fish  of 
the  Cyprinidae  or  carp  family,  which  has  en- 
riched the  language  with  the  saying  "sound  as 
a  roach."  He  was  born  in  Florence  in  1503 
and  had  a  varied  career  as  druggist,  philosopher 
astronomer,  philologist,  novelliero,  improvvisa- 
torey  humourist  and  playwright.  He  belonged 
to  the  Academies  of  Gli  Umidi  and  la  Crusca 
but  quarreled  with  them  both.  He  died  at  the  age 
of  eighty.  He  detested  pedants,  priests,  Petrar- 
chistiand  Boccaccevoli  and  was  always  ready  to 
turn  anything  and  everything  into  ridicule.  He 
had  little  invention,  but  the  Florentines  of  his  day 
were  pleased  with  practical  jokes,  and  so  his  nov- 
els and  comedies  alike  turn  on  beffe  and  burle. 
He  himself  calls  them  — "Comedies  cheap,  small, 
and  here  and  there  filled  out  with  plagiarisms 
\Commedie  stiracchiate,  grette  e  rubacchiate  qua  e 
la] — and  worse  than  all  mixing  together  the  old 
and  the  new,the  ancient  and  the  modern  and  mak- 
ing un  guazzabuglio — a  hodgepodge  —  and  med- 
ley that  has  no  method  or  turn  or  head  or  tail." 


262         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

"Comedies,"  he  says  in  another  place,  "must 
be  jolly,  capricious,  witty,  absurd  \ridicola\ 
fine  \balla\  and  well  recited." 

But  he  also  lacked  the  genius  to  put  comedy 
on  the  right  track  and  his  best  known  play, 
"Gelosia,"  has  little  originality  but  only  practical 
jokes  in  the  farcical  style  so  familiar.  There 
is  some  fun  in  his  posthumous  comedy,"Arzigo- 
golo,"  "Sly  Fellow,"  where  an  old  man  is  repre- 
sented as  willing  to  give  his  soul  to  become  young 
again  and  when  he  actually  attains  his  wishes 
by  means  of  his  hard  cash,  he  is  so  maltreated 
by  his  lady-love  that  he  is  glad  to  pay  a  still 
larger  sum  to  change  back  to  an  old  man. 

It  is  curious  to  see  how  the  old  types  appear 
in  many  of  these  comedies.  Thus  the  miles 
gloriosus,  the  braggart  coward,  turns  up  under 
different  names  —  Bisilisco,  Gorgoleone,  Frasi- 
logo,  Parabola,  Martibellonio,  Dragoleone,Trasi- 
maco.  So  also  the  parasite,  that  type  so  loved 
by  the  ancients,  masquerades  as  Lupo,  Panvinio, 
Leccardo,  Polifago,  Mastica,  Ventraccio,  Mor- 
feo,  Lardone,  Panfago,  Fagone,  Gulone  —  the 
different  names,  as  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  pro- 
totypes, nearly  all  having  a  slant  at  the  crea- 
ture's unlimited  appetite. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  263 

Camerini  sees  in  the  Neapolitan  G.  B.  Porta, 
who  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-seven,  in  1615, 
one  of  the  predecessors  of  Goldoni.  One  of 
his  comedies,  "La  Chiappenaria,"  presents  the 
great  captain  Gorgoleone,  conqueror  of  lions  and 
giants,  but  though  a  terrible  boaster,  at  heart, 
like  all  his  breed,  an  arrant  coward.  To  hear 
him  tell  his  feats  one  gets  a  vision  of  arms,  legs, 
heads  and  other  fragments  of  people  flying  through 
the  air;  but,  like  the  prowess  of  the  immortal 
Tartarin  ofTarascon.it  is  only  words:  if  a  case 
of  real  danger  should  occur,  he  would  be  the 
first  to  take  to  his  heels,  followed  by  his  squire, 
Rompiguerra. 

The  squire  is  a  distant  congener  of  Sancho 
Panza  and  while  he  flatters  his  patron  he  makes 
sport  of  him.  Old  Cogliandro,  the  father  of  the 
heroine  Drusilla,  into  whose  house  the  lover, 
Albinio,  penetrates  disguised  under  a  bear-skin — 
whence  the  name  of  the  play  is  derived  —  is 
the  familiar  type  of  the  old  fool,  deceived  by 
every  one.  Here,  as  usual,  enters  the  parasite 
Panvinio,  whose  very  name,  derived  from  pan 
and  vino,  signifies  that  he  thinks  of  nothing  but 
bread  and  wine.  The  cant-term  Scanna-min- 
istre  is  applied  to  him  in  honour  of  his  digestive 


264         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

powers:  he  would  devour  not  only  everything 
on  the  map  but  also  the  map  itself.  In  his  zeal 
for  the  pleasures  of  the  palate  he  calls  a  hand- 
some capon  the  Padre  abate  del  Cappone  and 
describes  an  olla  podrida  in  Spanish  style  with 
all  the  flowery  diction  that  a  critic  would  apply 
to  the  Last  Judgment  of  Michelangelo.  His 
terms  of  endearment  are  all  derived  from  the 
pantry.  He  helps  to  introduce  Alberino  into 
Cogliandro's  house.  "Soldiers,"  he  says, "go 
to  war  for  three  ducats  a  month  amid  musket 
balls  and  cannon  balls  and  shall  I  fear  death 
when  I  have  a  chance  to  eat  and  drink  well  and 
sleep  better?"  He  becomes  the  leader  in  the 
formidable  undertaking  and  his  superior  genius 
is  recognised  by  the  servant  Truffa  whom  he 
wheedles. 

What  a  picture  Porta  gives  of  the  astuteness 
of  the  enamoured  Drusilla,  who,  when  her  father 
has  detected  her  furtively  embracing  her  lover 
Albinio,  proves  to  his  satisfaction  that  he  had 
not  seen  correctly,  that  he  was  suffering  from 
obliquity  of  vision  and  as  an  additional  proof 
she  threatens  to  go  to  a  monastery  —  the  monas- 
tery being  Albinio's  house  —  and  then  she 
heaps  on  her  lover  all  manner  of  insults!  He 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  265 

loves  her  more  and  more:-  "a  thousand 
years  with  her  would  seem  to  me  a  moment; 
the  more  I  see  her  the  more  beautiful  she 
seems." 

Porta's  dialogue  has  been  compared  by  the 
Italians,  in  its  freshness  and  brilliancy,  to  the 
sky  of  Naples.  His  comedies,  says  Ferdinando 
Galanti,  "are  pearls  fallen  into  the  mire,  but 
they  are  still  pearls." 


ii 

The  next  two  centuries  are  a  barren  waste  in 
the  history  of  the  Italian  stage.  Not  even  the 
colossal  genius  of  Michelangelo  in  his  "Fiera," 
that  great  trilogy  of  twenty-five  acts,  succeeded 
in  communicating  any  life  to  an  art  that  was 
hopelessly  set,  like  plaster-of-paris  or  putty. 

The  only  originality  that  seemed  to  show 
itself  in  that  long  age  of  decadence  was  in  the 
so-called  favola  pastorale — the  pastoral  drama 
—  which  is  the  grandmother  of  Italian  opera. 
The  commedia  dell'  arte  was  also  a  dramatic 
phase  characteristic  of  Italy  and  traced  its 
ancestry  and  origin  back  to  almost  prehistoric 


266         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

times.  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  im- 
provisation was  indigenous  to  Italy  and  the 
commedia  dell*  arte  depended  for  its  success 
upon  the  quick  wit  of  the  actors  who,  under 
certain  conditions,  within  certain  fixed  limits, 
made  up  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  the  dialogue 
and  evolved  the  action. 

A  number  of  the  skeletons  of  these  impro- 
vised comedies  have  come  down  to  us  and  have 
been  recently  published.  Salvator  Rosa  as 
well  as  Cecchi  planned  them.  Naturally  carica- 
ture and  broad  farce  and  grotesque  antics, 
adapted  solely  to  raise  a  laugh,  characterised 
these  improvisations.  Often  in  more  formal 
comedies  whole  scenes  were  left  to  be  filled  in 
by  the  actors  and  this  was  doubtless  the 
case  in  other  parts  of  Europe;  certainly  it  was 
true  of  the  later  Italian  stage.  There  were 
certain  jests  and  songs,  stories  and  prayers, 
oaths  and  dialogues,  sentences  and  proverbs 
which  undoubtedly  became  the  special  property 
of  the  actor.  Such  especially  were  the  lazzi,or 
jests,  which  Riccoboni  called  the  inutilities  that 
interrupted  the  dialogue  and  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  subject. 

Harlequin  had  an  imprescriptible  right  to  a 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  267 

large  share  of  these  absurdities;  especially  the 
pulcinello  of  the  Neapolitan  comedy,  who  was 
always  full  of  amusing  remarks.  The  topical 
song  of  the  modern  operetta,  having  abso- 
lutely no  relevancy  to  the  action  but  introduced 
as  a  way  of  conveying  flat  and  often  coarse  jests 
at  the  expense  of  local  celebrities  or  current 
"fads,"  perhaps  as  well  as  anything  illustrates 
the  effect  of  these  lazzi  which  then,  as  now, 
made  the  judicious  mourn. 

Many  actors  won  great  fame  in  this  art  and 
it  would  evidently  require  invention,  a  quick 
and  ready  memory,  a  fiery  dash,  readiness  of 
repartee  and  more  or  less  grace.  Sometimes 
women  excelled  in  it:  for  example  Vincenza 
Armani,  a  Venetian,  who  also  wrote  poems  and 
was  called  the  Queen  of  the  Art. 

There  is  one  thing  that  strikes  one  in  study- 
ing the  Italian  drama,  and  that  is  the  perman- 
ence of  types.  The  four  most  famous  are  Arle- 
cchino,  Brighella,  Pantaleone  and  the  Doctor. 
The  harlequin  is  evidently  derived  from  the 
ancient  mimi,  and  may  be  detected  in  the  old 
Greek  comedy  where  the  actor  wore  a  goat  or 
tiger  skin  with  a  white  cap  on  his  head,  a  black 
mask  over  his  face  and  carried  a  stick  in  his 


268         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

hand.  Michelangelo  is  said  to  have  furnished 
the  Harlequin  of  his  day  with  the  mask;  Dom- 
enico  Biancoletti,  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
added  the  finishing  touches.  A  whole  book 
might  be  written  about  these  four  characters  - 
yes,  on  Harlequin  alone.  In  how  many  hun- 
dred plays  he  appears  with  his  lady-love  Colom- 
bina,  his  parti-coloured  raiment  and  his  cap 
ornamented  with  the  tail  of  a  hare  or  a  cony — 
significant  of  his  hare-brained  or  cowardly 
nature  —  and  acted  by  famous  actors  who  were 
rewarded  by  kings! 

Possibly  the  real  ancestor  of  the  harlequin  is 
the  Maccus  of  the  celebrated  Atillan  games  or 
ludi.  His  mask  was  long  and  sharp;  he  had  a 
hunchback,  a  protruberant  belly,  long  legs  and 
a  most  strident  voice:  as  he  imitated  the  sounds 
of  various  voices  and  especially  the  sharp  crow- 
ing of  the  cock  to  which  he  bore  a  certain  re- 
semblance, he  was  called  pullus  gallinaceus, 
whence  by  an  easy  transition  we  derive  pul- 
licenus,  Pulicinella,  Pulcinella,  Punchinello  and 
our  own  Punch.  So  when  we  see  the  Punch 
and  Judy  show  in  the  public  square  we  ought 
to  look  at  it  with  some  reverence:  it  has  a  most 
noble  and  legitimate  genealogy;  its  beginnings 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  269 

are  in  the  misty  times  when  the  Oscans  and 
Umbrians  worshipped  their  nature  gods  under 
the  glorious  sky  of  Italy.  Perhaps  it  is  only 
safe  to  admit  with  conservative  caution  that 
there  are  other  derivations  of  the  word  Punch, 
Three  can  be  found  in  Littre;  and  Skeat  has 
still  another.  The  last  great  Italian  Pulcinella, 
Petito,  King  of  San  Carlino,  died  in  March,  1876, 
on  the  stage  dressed  in  his  white  array. 

Brighella  is  the  type  of  the  insolent  servant, 
chattering,  cheating,  malicious,  quarrelsome, 
but  easily  bought.  The  garb  which  he  wore 
also  became  typical:  the  white  tunic  hemmed 
with  green,  the  wide-brimmed  conical  hat  with 
its  black  plume  or  in  later  times  somewhat 
modified;  with  wide  trousers  and  a  jacket 
trimmed  with  green  and  the  white  berettone  or 
cap  and  the  half-mask  displaying  the  little 
moustache  and  the  shaven  chin.  He  has  many 
aliases:  Pedrolino,  Beltrame,  Bagolino,  Fantino, 
Finocchio,  Traccagnino,  Frontino,  Sganarello, 
Mascarillo  and  Figaro. 

Pantaleone,  who  derived  his  name  from 
Venice,  whose  lions  were  supposed  to  be  every- 
where planted  by  Venetian  conquest  — our 
tabooed  pants  only  worn  by  gents  recalls  it  — 


2;o         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

represents  the  old  father,  generally  rich,  jovial, 
rather  reticent,  but  fond  of  proverbs,  a  man  of 
the  world,  with  a  daughter  the  very  apple  of 
his  eye.  His  costume  is  properly  that  of  a 
Venetian  merchant,  originally  a  red  gown  but 
after  the  Republic  lost  Negroponte  a  black  one 
was  substituted,  a  slouching  baretta  of  wool, 
short  clothes,  stockings,  red  slippers  and  a  black 
semi-mask. 

Such  an  one  is  Shakespeare's  Antonio,  with  his 
pretensions  of  being  a  magnifico,  with  his  houses 
and  villas  and  his  fleets  on  all  the  seas.  Being 
more  closely  drawn  from  the  life  he  may  be 
found  in  the  drama  of  other  countries.  His 
dignified  flowing  beard  is  symbolical  of  the 
greatness  of  Venice  when  Milan  alone  paid  over 
as  a  balance  of  trade  nearly  seven  hundred 
thousand  zecchins  a  year.  There  are  many 
famous  names  of  actors  who  took  this  typical 
part  with  distinction  —  a  part  found  in  more 
comedies  than  one  would  care  to  name.  Garelli, 
known  as  /'/  eloquente;  Antonio  Mattiuzzi,  as 
famous  in  Paris  as  in  Venice  and  commemorated 
by  Goldoni :  a  man  who  not  only  acted  but  also 
wrote  comedies:  his  own  "Tre  Fratelli  Venez- 
iani"  was  declared  incomparable. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  271 

The  Doctor  is  the  type  of  the  semi-serious 
maschera:  the  caricature  of  the  learned  man  who 
is  always  citing  famous  authors  and  wise  saws 
in  a  most  authoritative  tone  of  voice.  Just  as 
Harlequin  came  from  Bergamo  and  Pantaleone 
from  Venice  came  the  Doctor  from  Bologna. 
Pietro  Verri  traces  this  character  back  only  as 
far  as  the  twelfth  century,  when  the  new  school 
of  jurisprudence  was  opened  at  Bologna  and 
two  celebrated  doctors,  Bulgaro  and  Martino, 
disputed  publicly  whether  the  whole  world  was 
a  titled  property  or  only  a  lease:  hence  the  al- 
leged appropriateness  of  the  black  nose,  the 
blackened  forehead  and  the  red  cheeks.  The 
Doctor's  name  is  generally  Graziano,  which  has 
a  familiar  sound  to  readers  of  Shakespeare. 
He  is  dressed  in  a  black  robe,  with  a  mask 
stained  with  wine-spots.  Goldoni  relates  that 
this  spot  of  wine  transmits  to  posterity  the 
memory  of  a  Bolognese  giureconsulto  whose  face 
was  disfigured  with  a  red  spot:  but  it  also  hints 
at  the  convivial  habits  of  doctors,  especially  the 
humbugs  among  doctors. 

There  are  still  other  types  of  the  masked 
comedian;  one  of  the  most  famous  was  Scara- 
muccia  the  boastful,  a  cousin  or  even  a  nearer 


272         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

relation  of  the  miles  gloriosus.  Tiberio  Fiorilli 
the  favourite  of  Louis  XIV.  and  no  less  famous 
as  Capitan  Spavento  and  Capitan  Matamoros 
and  also  as  Pulcinella,  created  this  part.  It  was 
said  of  him,  as  the  heaven  has  only  one  sun  so 
the  earth  has  only  one  Scaramouche.  He  finds 
his  echo  in  Moliere. 

Scapino  of  Bologna,  the  astute  rascally  little 
cicerone  di  piazza  —  who  now-a-days  would 
ride  round  in  a  motor-vehicle  and  point  out 
celebrities  and  notable  buildings  with  a  sten- 
torian voice  multiplied  by  a  megaphone,  finds 
his  double  in  Moliere's  "Fouberies  de  Scapin." 

Nearly  every  city  of  Italy  had  its  own  favourite 
type  of  the  buffoon:  Modena  its  Sandron; 
Calabria  its  Coviello  with  his  mandolin  —  all 
speaking  their  own  peculiar  dialects  and  dressed 
in  the  typical  costume.  What  the  tourist  will 
see  even  now  at  Venice  during  Carnival  time 
was  probably  a  more  common  and  every-day 
entertainment  in  the  time  of  its  glory,  when,  as 
has  been  well  said  by  Galanti,  the  city  had  a  gay 
population  that  in  itself  was  like  a  spectacle: 
Armenians,  Turks,  Hebrews,  Germans,  Span- 
iards mingling  in  the  streets  and  on  the  Rialto 
with  polenta-pedlars  and  merchants  of  higher 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  273 

degree.  The  chronicles  of  Venice  are  full  of 
descriptions  of  brilliant  festivals  which  left  their 
impress  on  the  memory  of  the  people.  Venice 
was  the  last  of  the  Italian  republics  to  fall  and 
one  can  hardly  get  an  idea  of  the  environment 
of  Carlo  Goldoni  unless  one  remembers  some- 
thing of  the  history  of  the  proud  city  of  the 
Doges. 


in 

It  must  be  made  perfectly  plain  that  the  set 
forms  to  which  the  Italian  stage  was  committed 
put  a  bar  on  any  great  display  of  originality. 
The  upper  classes  who  alone  had  any  influence 
were  content  with  ocular  magnificence  and  the 
conventional  imitative  plot,  provided  there  were 
vivacity  of  dialogue.  Innovation  was  frowned 
upon  just  as  it  was  in  music  a  century  later  in 
Germany.  What  and  who  should  bring  about 
a  reform  ? 

It  was  a  Venetian  —  it  was  Carlo  Goldoni, 
whom  Robert  Browning  calls  "Dear  King  of 
Comedy  —  good  gay  sunniest  of  souls." 

There  is  no  need  of  saying  much  of  his  life. 


274         A  TEACFIER  OF  DANTE 

When  he  was  an  old  man,  over  eighty,  he  wrote 
his  memoirs  in  French  and  they  are  accessible 
in  an  English  translation  with  an  Introduction 
by  Mr.  Howells;  a  selection  of  four  of  his  plays 
with  a  brief  biographical  sketch  by  Helen  Zim- 
mern,  compiled  from  the  memoirs,  was  pub- 
lished a  few  years  ago. 

He  was  born  February  25, 1707,  in  a  large  and 
beautiful  mansion  between  the  Bridge  dei  Nom- 
boli  and  that  of  Donna  Onesta,  at  the  corner  of 
the  Ca  Cent*  Anni.  A  Latin  inscription  com- 
memorates the  fact  that  he  was  born  there 
plaudentibus  Musis.  His  grandfather,  who  held 
a  position  in  the  Venetian  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, married  a  lady  of  Modena.  When  she 
died, leaving  one  son,  he  married  a  widow  named 
Salvioni,  who  was  already  the  mother  of  two 
daughters.  The  son,  who  became  a  doctor, 
married  Margarita  the  elder  of  the  stepdaughters, 
and  the  future  playwright,  Carlo,  was  thus 
doubly  his  grandparents'  grandchild. 

In  command  of  large  means, the  grandfather 
expended  them  recklessly.  Above  all  things  he 
liked  theatrical  and  musical  entertainments,  and 
he  hired  all  the  best  actors  and  singers  of  his  day 
to  perform  for  him. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  275 

"I  was  born  in  that  whirl  [questo  strepito] 
amid  that  abundance,"  wrote  Goldoni,  "could 
I  despise  stage  shows,  could  I  help  loving 
gaiety  ? "  He  declares  that  he  came  into  the 
world  without  crying!  When  he  was  four  years 
old  he  began  to  delight  in  the  comedies  that  he 
saw  acted;  at  eight  or  nine  or  ten  —  according 
to  different  accounts  —  he  made  a  little  play 
which  greatly  pleased  and  flattered  his  father, 
who  said:  "If  nine  years  produce  four  carats  of 
wit,  eighteen  ought  to  give  twelve  and  by  arith- 
metical progression  he  might  thus  reach  per- 
fection." 

When  Goldoni's  grandfather  died  and  the 
estate  was  settled,  the  usual  results  of  extrava- 
gance were  bequeathed  to  the  family;  but  his 
father,  Giulio,  rose  to  the  occasion:  he  went  to 
Perugia  and  there  practised  medicine  and 
achieved  success.  One  of  the  boy's  first  ques- 
tions on  reaching  his  new  home  was  whether  he 
should  find  there  a  theatre  or  hall  for  comedy. 
His  parents  favoured  him  in  these  tastes  and  when 
they  got  up  some  private  theatricals  for  him  he 
took  the  part  of  the  leading  lady,  but  afterward 
admitted  that  he  would  never  have  made  a  good 
actor,  whether  in  male  or  female  parts. 


276         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

He  was  destined  to  be  a  physician,  so  he  was 
sent  to  the  Dominican  school  at  Rimini,  but  he 
took  no  interest  in  the  logic  of  the  celebrated 
Candini:  Plautus,  Terence,  Aristophanes  and 
the  fragments  of  Menander  were  far  more  to  his 
taste. 

A  company  of  Venetian  actors  happened  to  be 
at  Rimini.  Goldoni  was  not  long  in  scraping 
acquaintance  with  them  and  found  their  teach- 
ing of  philosophy  far  more  entertaining  than 
what  the  Jesuits  had  to  give  him.  When  they 
were  on  the  eve  of  leaving  Rimini  he  determined 
to  go  with  them.  He  took  two  shirts  and  a 
night-cap,  gave  away  the  rest  of  his  wardrobe, 
as  if  he  were  bound  for  the  other  world  (says 
one  of  his  biographers)  and  hid  in  the  barge 
which  the  company  had  hired  for  their  journey. 
After  it  was  well  under  way  he  suddenly  ap- 
peared among  them.  What  with  the  actors 
and  prompter  and  costumer,  and  children  of 
every  age,  and  dogs,  cats,  monkeys,  pigeons 
and  a  lamb,  it  reminded  him  of  Noah's  Ark. 

They  were  three  days  on  the  way  and  the 
young  man  was  then  landed  at  Chioggia,  where 
his  parents  were  at  that  time  living.  They 
readily  forgave  him  his  escapade  and  Dr.  Giulio 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  277 

determined  to  have  him  study  under  his  own 
eye;  but  the  practice  of  medicine  evidently 
wore  on  his  nerves;  he  became  moody  and 
melancholy  and  so  he  was  allowed  to  give  up  the 
detested  career  and  was  sent  to  an  uncle  living 
at  Venice  to  study  law.  As  there  were  seven 
theatres  in  full  blast  there  and  Metastasio's 
operas  were  attracting  great  attention,  it  was  not 
strange  that  he  got  more  pleasure  than  law.  A 
place  was  obtained  for  him  in  the  Collegio 
Ghislieri  at  Pa  via,  but  as  it  was  a  Papal  institute 
he  had  to  submit  to  the  tonsure  and  to 
other  conventionalities.  While  waiting  for  their 
termination  he  read  the  dramatic  library  belong- 
ing to  one  of  the  professors :  this  gave  him  a 
great  stimulus  to  become  a  dramatic  author  — 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  while  one  might 
imitate  the  ancients  in  their  plots,  in  their  style 
and  in  their  precision,  still  it  would  be  requisite 
to  impart  greater  interest,  introduce  more  expres- 
sive characters,  cultivate  a  higher  comic  art  and 
a  more  felicitous  disentanglement. 

Every  century  has  its  dominant  genius,  he 
said,  and  every  region  its  characteristic  taste. 
He  felt  that  while  the  Greeks  and  Romans  had 
known  nature  and  followed  it  closely,  there  had 


2;8         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

still  been  little  illusion  and  craft.  They  had 
pictured  it  with  too  much  realism  but  with  too 
little  movement,  without  enough  plot — intriccio, 
intrigue  —  without  enough  balance  and  con- 
trast of  characters. 

When  he  found  the  plays  of  English,  French 
and  Spanish  authors  and  only  here  and  there 
one  by  Italians,  when  he  noticed  that  no  real 
collection,  no  theatre,  did  honour  to  Italy,  his 
ambition  awoke  and  he  felt  in  his  heart  that  he 
might  some  day  create  such  a  teatro  Italiano  with 
original  and  veracious  and  vivacious  action  and 
characters  copied  from  life. 

But  meantime  he  had  become  a  student  of  the 
Papal  College  and  found  himself  masked,  as  it 
were,  in  the  college  costume,  tonsured  like  a 
priest,  in  a  gown  like  a  sleeveless  nightgown, 
with  a  velvet  stole  fastened  to  his  left  shoulder 
by  a  gold  and  silver  pin  in  the  shape  of  the 
Ghislieri  arms  surmounted  by  a  pontifical  tiara 
and  Saint  Peter's  keys.  And  his  gaiety  and 
natural  good  temper  made  him  a  leader  in  all 
the  mischief  that  went  on  under  the  pious  wings 
of  that  institution.  He  learned  something  of 
life  here  and  the  fascinations  of  gambling  and 
worse  vices  were  not  concealed  from  his  eyes. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  279 

At  Chioggia ,  during  his  vacation,  a  priest  lent  him 
Machiavelli's  "Mandragora"  not  dreaming  that 
it  was  unsuitable  reading  for  a  youth.  Goldoni 
read  it  a  dozen  times,  not  for  its  indecency,  but 
because  he  was  carried  away  by  the  great 
statesman's  satiric  and  comic  genius.  From 
that  moment  he  learned  to  watch  and  study 
men  and  to  find  delight  in  the  analysis  of 
human  passions. 

On  his  return  to  Pavia  he  wrote  a  kind  of 
farce  entitled  "II  Co  losso"  which  made  all  manner 
of  sport  of  the  Pavians.  He  was  punished  for 
it  by  expulsion  —  for  that  and  other  pranks. 
He  schemed  to  go  to  Rome  and  become  the 
pupil  of  Gravina,  then  regarded  as  the  most 
learned  in  the  dramatic  art  and  famed  as  the 
instructor  of  Metastasio.  "Have  I  not,  per- 
chance, also  the  disposition,  talent,  genius  ?  To 
Rome,  then,  to  Rome."  But  he  had  no  money, 
So  he  returned  to  his  home,  was  forgiven  and 
started  off  on  a  journey  with  his  father.  Every- 
where he  went  he  gathered  new  ideas  and  ex- 
periences which  he  afterward  embodied  in  his 
plays — as  for  example  a  little  love-episode  with 
a  young  maid  at  Friuli,  who  appears  as  Corallina 
and  as  the  soubrette  in  "La  Cameriera  Astuta." 


280         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

At  Modena  he  saw  a  priest  or  abbe  condemned 
to  the  pillory,  and  this  spectacle  filled  his  mind 
with  a  disgust  of  the  world:  he  visited  churches, 
muttered  prayers,  and  resolved  to  become  a 
Capuchin.  His  father  consented,  gave  him  his 
blessing  and  took  him  to  Venice,  there  to  fulfil 
his  vows.  But  it  required  only  about  a  fort- 
night of  dinners,  suppers,  theatres  and  other 
dissipations  with  relatives  and  friends  to  make 
him  forget  the  cloisters. 

The  theatre  had  given  him  back  his  life  and 
his  individuality.  He  tells  us  in  his  Memoirs 
how  his  mind  found  no  other  resource  than  the 
dramatic  art,  which  he  ever  loved  and  to  which 
he  would  have  dedicated  himself  had  he  been 
master  of  his  will. 

He  was  twenty-one  and  through  the  good 
offices  of  friends  he  was  appointed  aggiunto 
coadjutore  in  the  Criminal  Chancelry,  a  position 
which  gave  him  a  great  opportunity  to  study 
types  and  forms.  It  was  not  a  very  burdensome 
office  and  assured  him  good  pay.  At  Chioggia 
he  studied  the  comic  types  that  came  under  his 
observation  and  were  afterward  immortalised 
by  his  satiric  pen.  At  Feltre,  whither  his  duties 
called  him,  he  became  acquainted  with  a  young 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  281 

lady  boarding  in  a  convent  and  he  was  just  on 
the  point  of  marrying  her  when  his  faithless, 
fickle  fair  one  jilted  him  to  marry  an  old  man. 
Whereupon  he  expressed  the  hope  that  the  old 
spouse  would  soon  die  so  that  he  might  marry  the 
rich  young  vedovella.  Many  years  afterward 
he  utilised  his  experiences  in  one  of  his  best- 
known  comedies,"Le  Barufe  Chiozzote,"  in  which 
Isidore  is  supposed  to  be  a  picture  of  himself. 
This  incident  has  within  a  few  years  been 
commemorated  in  a  comedy  entitled  "Un 
Amoretto  del  Goldoni  a  Feltre." 

At  Feltre  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  troupe 
of  actors  under  Carlo  Veronese,  whom  Goldoni, 
after  a  lapse  of  thirty  years,  met  again  in  Paris 
when  he  was  acting  the  part  of  Pantaleone. 
Florindo  de'  Maccheroni,  whom  he  had  known 
at  Rimini,  was  also  there,  but  he  had  grown  old 
and  Goldoni  says  he  was  then  playing  only  the 
king  in  tragedy  and  the  noble  father  in  comedy. 
Again  his  susceptible  heart  was  ensnared  by  a 
bell  a  Angelica;  she  was  so  jealous  of  the  actresses 
whom  Goldoni  was  training  in  the  "Didone"  and 
"Serse"of  Metastasio  that  she  wept  when  she 
ought  to  have  laughed,  but  Goldoni  says  the 
poor  girl  loved  him  tenderly  and  with  perfect 


282         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

fidelity.  "I  loved  her  too  with  my  whole  soul 
and  I  may  say  that  she  was  the  first  person  whom 
I  ever  truly  loved." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  marrying  her,  but  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  her  beauty  was 
too  delicate  in  character  to  last  and  so  he  aban- 
doned the  delicious  dream.  "To  be  sure,"  he 
says,  this  was  reasoning  too  much  for  a  lover 
but  either  through  virtue  or  weakness  or  incon- 
stancy, I  left  Feltre  and  did  not  marry  her." 

In  1731  he  lost  his  father,  and  as  he  was  now 
the  head  of  the  family  economical  considerations 
compelled  him  to  devote  himself  seriously  to  the 
law.  He  went  to  Padua  and  studied  earnestly, 
for  still  Padua  boasted  its  learned  Bellario. 
Nevertheless,  he  spent  the  whole  night  before 
the  examination  for  his  degree  at  the  card  table 
and  lost  all  his  money  —  one  of  his  companions 
was  a  law  professor.  The  day  began  to  dawn; 
the  university  bell  rang:  he  hurriedly  put  on 
his  gown  and  rushed  to  the  examination,  which 
he  passed  brilliantly  and  was  proclaimed  dottore. 

The  day  came  when  he  should  be  presented 
at  the  Palazzo :  he  tells  how  he  stood  for  an  hour 
and  a  half  at  the  foot  of  the  Scala  dei  Giganti 
making  so  many  bows  and  contortions  that  his 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  283 

back  was  broken  and  his  wig  was  like  a  lion's 
mane.  The  fruit  of  these  days  was,  as  might 
be  expected  —  not  a  rush  of  clients,  but  his 
"Avvocato  Veneziano." 

Another  of  his  numerous  love  adventures  here 
occurred.  A  mysterious  woman  known  as 
Barabba,  who  was  always  looking  out  for  the 
interests  of  young  lawyers,  came  to  him  one  day 
and  engaged  him  in  a  long  conversation, which 
he  must  have  found  very  amusing;  but  Goldoni 
retained  his  dignity  and  the  unknown  departed 
saying,  "Addio,  signore,  be  ever  wise,  be 
ever  honourable  and  you  will  be  happy."  In- 
stead of  occupying  himself  with  profitable  law- 
cases  he  whiled  away  his  time  in  composing  an 
almanac  entitled  "The  Experience  of  the  Past; 
the  Astrologof  the  Future,  Almanacco  Critico  for 
the  year  1732."  The  work  was  full  of  prophe- 
cies written  in  terza  rima.  He  also  composed 
a  lyric  tragedy  entitled  "L'Amalasunta."  Still 
another  love  affair  from  which  there  was  no 
other  exit  than  flight  brought  him  to  Vicenza, 
where  Count  Parmenio  Trissino,  a  descendant 
of  the  author  of  "So  fonisba,"  condescended  to  cast 
his  critical  eye  on  his  latest  production.  He 
gave  him  no  encouragement  but  advised  him  to 


284         A  TEACHAR  OF  DANTE 

devote  himself  to  comedy.  At  Brescia  he  read 
the  tragedy  to  a  brigata,  but  it  met  with  more 
criticism  than  praise. 

At  Bergamo,  the  home  of  Harlequin,  he 
was  warmly  received,  his  name  as  an  astrol- 
oger having  preceded  him:  his  almanacco 
had  won  him  friends.  Then  he  proceeded  to 
Milan.  It  was  carnival  time  and  opera  was  in 
full  swing.  Caffariello,  the  director  and  com- 
poser, and  his  wife,  the  prima  ballerina,  received 
him  cordially.  At  their  home  he  began  to  read 
his  great  tragedy,  but  Caffariello  laughed  at  the 
Queen  of  the  Goths;  one  of  the  singers  inter- 
rupted him  by  practising  his  part  at  the  cembalo; 
the  reading  was  suspended  and  only  Count 
Prata,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  theatre,  had 
the  patience  ultimately  to  hear  it  to  the  end 
and  the  grace  to  give  the  author  some  wise 
advice,  which  he  recognised  as  true  and,  accept- 
ing, went  home  to  carry  out.  First,  however, 
he  had  a  fire  built  and  as  before  a  sacred  altar 
he  read  the  precious  play  from  beginning  to  end 
and  though  still  thinking  it  good,  nevertheless, 
while  cursing  the  rules,  the  actors,  the  com- 
posers, the  scene-painters  and  the  critics,  he 
burnt  it  from  title  to  epilogue.  Then  he  or- 


dered  dinner,  drank  enough  wine  to  cheer  his 
heart  and  forgot  his  disappointment  and  humil- 
iation in  sleep. 

The  Venetian  ambassador  gave  him  a  sine- 
cure office  as  chamberlain  and  while  enjoying  its 
emoluments  and  plenty  of  time,  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  quack  by  the  name  of  Buona- 
fede  Vitali,  called  Anonimo,  a  Jesuit,  doctor, 
professor,  orator,  encyclopedist,  who  as  a  means 
of  attracting  customers  acted  a  sort  of  farce  in 
public  .and  kept  a  company  of  comedians  in 
his  service. 

Owing  to  the  unexpected  failure  of  certain 
comedians  to  keep  their  engagement  for  the 
Easter  season,  a  vacancy  occurred  at  the  Milan 
theatre  and  Anonimo  proposed  that  his  company 
should  fill  the  bill.  Goldoni  supported  his 
proposition;  Rubini,  a  famous  Pantaleone,  was 
engaged  and  Goldoni  wrote  an  intermezzo  for 
two  voices,  entitled  "II  Gondolier  Veneziano." 
It  made  a  hit.  This  then  was  his  first  work  to  be 
performed  and  it  was  afterward  published  in  the 
fourth  volume  of  the  Pasquali  edition  of  Venice. 

Shortly  after  this  a  play  called  "Belisario" 
was  performed  in  Milan,  in  which  the  blinded 
hero  was  led  on  the  stage  by  Arlecchino  who  to 


286         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

show  his  compassion  kept  beating  him  with  his 
stick.  The  whole  affair  was  perfectly  farcical 
yet  it  was  received  by  the  public  quite  seriously. 
Goldoni  asked  the  chief  actor  what  he  thought 
of  it.  The  man  replied  that  that  sort  of  thing 
would  go  on  until  the  stage  was  reformed. 

Goldoni  was  moved  to  write  a  play  in  which 
this  subject  should  be  treated  worthily.  He 
got  one  act  completed,  but  the  war  of  Don 
Carlos  broke  out  (in  1733).  Goldoni  had  to  leave 
Milan;  at  Crema  several  scrapes  into  which  he 
was  led  lost  him  his  patron's  confidence  and 
his  position.  But  he  finished  "Belisario"  and 
after  some  delay  it  was  produced  at  Verona  with 
great  success.  He  wrote: 

My  heroes  were  men  and  not  demigods  ;  their  passions 
were  proportioned  to  their  positions,  showing  them  to  be 
human,  and  not  carrying  their  vices  and  virtues  to  an  imag- 
inary excess.  My  style  was  not  elegant  and  my  versification 
never  touched  the  sublime:  and  that  is  precisely  why  it 
was  needed  to  bring  to  reason  a  public  accustomed  to 
hyperbole,  to  antitheses,  and  to  the  absurdity  of  the  gigan- 
tic and  of  the  romances. 

In  1736  Goldoni  married  Nicoletta  Conio,  who, 
he  declared,  indemnified  him  for  all  that  he  ever 
suffered  from  the  evil  done  him  by  women  and 
reconciled  him  to  the  fair  sex.  She  was  a  true 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  287 

companion  to  him  all  the  days  of  his  life,  his 
inspiration  and  his  comfort,  unspoiled  by  suc- 
cess and  serene  in  adversity,  free  from  jealousy 
-  the  ideal  wife  for  such  a  man,  keeping  him  to 
high  purposes  and  restraining  his  lower  im- 
pulses. He  often  declared  that  in  his  wife  he 
was  the  most  contented,  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world. 

The  story  of  the  steps  by  which  he  was  led 
to  abandon  the  composition  of  conventional 
tragedies,  intermezzi,  cantabili  and  Metastasian 
opera  librettos  is  fully  rehearsed  in  his  Memoirs 
as  likewise  his  entertaining  adventures  in  the 
various  cities  to  which  his  nomadic  instincts  led 
him.  Indeed  the  Memoirs  of  his  are  justly 
regarded  as  amusing  as  any  of  his  comedies*. 

Garrulous,  simple-hearted,  confiding,  if  he 
had  only  written  them  in  Italian  instead  of 
French,  they  would  have  perhaps  excelled  any 
autobiography  in  existence. 

After  he  had  written  a  number  of  comedies 
in  accord  with  the  ancient  fashion,  all  more  or 
less  successful  in  their  way  but  not  satisfying  to 


*  There  are  thirty  or  more  titles  of  his  early  tragedies,  tragi- 
comedies, drarnmi  per  muiica,  comedies  of  semi-carattere  and  masked 
subject-comedies . 


288         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

his  artistic  instincts,  he  began  his  first  reform 
by  trying  to  abolish  the  masks  that  were  one  of 
the  conventions  of  the  Italian  stage.  At  Pisa, 
at  Mantua,  at  Modena  and  finally  at  Venice 
(in  July,  1 747),  with  the  aid  of  Medebac,  leader 
of  a  troupe  of  comedians,  of  which  Medebac's 
beautiful  wife,  and  the  famous  Darbes  were 
important  members,  he  began  to  introduce  his 
new  ideas.  Venice  especially  was  the  home  of 
the  Italian  theatre  and  here  he  saw  a  suitable 
place  to  build  his  new  edifice.  "  I  had  no  rivals 
to  combat,"  he  said,  "but  only  to  overcome 
prejudices." 

The  rivals  however  were  not  slow  to  appear. 
He  entirely  abandoned  his  law  business,  which 
was  always  rather  a  form  than  a  chosen  pro- 
fession. His  first  new  comedy,  "Tognetto,"  made 
a  fiasco.  He  thought  the  matter  ended  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  public  was  right 
in  condemning  it.  He  wrote  another,  "L'Uomo 
Prudente,"  in  which  the  Pantaleone  appears  at 
first  in  a  mask  and  then  removes  it.  Though 
very  faulty  the  play  was  successful  and  he  was 
soon  ready  with  a  third,  "Due  Gemelli  Venezi- 
ani"  especially  adapted  for  displaying  the  genius 
of  Darbes  who  took  the  part  of  the  twin  brothers. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  289 

But  these  were  only  tentative.  Not  until  1748, 
when  his  "Vedova  Scaltra,"  "The  Crafty 
Widow,"  was  represented  at  Venice  may  he  be 
said  to  have  definitely  abandoned  himself  to  the 
"  Comedy  of  Character,"  in  which  he  was  thought 
to  rival  Moliere.  In  "La  Vedova  Scaltra"  he  in- 
troduces Milord  Rosenif,  an  Englishman;  Cheva- 
lier Le  Bleau,  a  Frenchman;  Don  Alvaro,  a 
proud  Spaniard;  il  Conte  di  Borco,  an  Italian; 
and  the  liberal,  elegant,  noble,  love-compelling 
heroine  Rosaura,  who  receives  with  perfect 
impartiality  a  diamond  from  the  Englishman, 
a  picture  from  the  Frenchman,  a  genealogical 
tree  from  the  Don  and  a  sentimental  letter  from 
the  Italian.  It  was  represented  thirty  times. 
Another  of  his  comedies,  "La  EredeFortunata," 
having,  as  he  thought,  been  unjustly  condemned 
during  the  carnival  of  1749,  he  vowed  to  write 
sixteen  the  next  year  and  he  accomplished  his 
purpose  —  a  literary  feat  never  since  exceeded 
even  by  Mr.  Clyde  Fitch!  Among  the  number 
were  "Pamela,"  a  dramatisation  of  Richardson's 
novel,  then  all  the  rage  in  Italy,  and  the  "Bottega 
del  Caffe." 

The  use  of  the  comedy  as  a  censor  of  morals 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  Goldoni's  satire  put  an 


29o         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

end  to  the    state-protected  gambling  that  was 
the  bane  of  Venice  in  that  day  as  it  is  at  Monaco 
in  ours.     The   institution   of  the   cavalere  ser- 
vente,  or    Cicisbeo,    the    secondary    unlegalised 
husband  or  protected  lover,  which  had  been  the 
curse  of  Italian  family  life  for  many  generations, 
as   a    sort   of  consolation    for   the   mariage   de 
convenance,  also    slunk    away    under    the  keen 
shafts  of  Goldoni(s_  ridicule;  just    as    chivalry 
itself,  from  which  it  was  derived,  perished  from 
romance  at  the  castigation  of  Cervantes.      "II 
Cavalarie  e    la    Dama,"  "The   Lord   and   the 
Lady, "  was    the     title    of    the    death-dealing 
comedy.     He  wrote  that  he  had  regarded  for 
a   long    time    with    amazement   these    singular 
creatures,  these  martyrs  of  gallantry,  slaves  of 
the  fair  sex.     This  play,   which   depicted  them 
to  the  life,  was  represented  fifteen  consecutive 
evenings.     Goldoni,  as  may  be  suspected,  wrote 
his    plays    with    the    greatest    possible    facility. 
Thus,  when  ft  was  almost  time  for  the  last  of 
them  to  be  put  on  the  stage,  the  carnival  was 
nearing  its  finale.     He  had  not  even  decided  on 
a  subject.     One  day,  in  Saint  Mark's,  he  saw 
an  old  Armenian,  a  seller  of  dried  fruits,  ragged 
and  derided.     He   rushed  home  and  wrote,  "I 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  291 

Pettegolezzi,"  "Billingsgate  Gossips,"  a  light  com- 
edy, which  had  the  most  extraordinary  success. 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  radiant  happiness  that 
surrounded  him  at  this  period  arose  dis- 
cordant notes.  Medebac,  whose  pockets  he  had 
filled,  was  close  and  grasping.  He  argued 
that  Goldoni  had  fame,  applause,  immortality, 
that  ought  to  suffice  him;  what  more  could  he 
want  ?  He  would  add  to  his  fame  and  his  own 
wealth  by  publishing  the  comedies.  A  quarrel 
ensued.  In  1752  Goldoni  parted  company 
with  Medebac  and  joined  the  troupe  of  a  Vene- 
tian named  Vendramin,  who  owned  the  theatre 
San  Luca,  and  for  him  he  wrote  "La  Locandiera," 
which  is  justly  regarded  as  one  of  his  best 
comedies,  with  its  charming  type  in  the  far- 
sighted  Mirandolina.  He  had  already  written 
upward  of  ninety  pieces  for  the  stage  and 
now  he  took  hold  with  fresh  zeal  to  com- 
pose for  his  new  patron.  For  him  he  laboured 
ten  years. 

One  of  the  first  plays  that  he  wrote  for  San 
Luca  was  "L'Avaro  Geloso/'in  which,  as  in  Plau- 
tus*  "Aulularia,"  and  Moliere's  "L'Avare,"  the 
type  illustrated  is  the  miser;  but  Goldoni  did  not 
copy  his  predecessors,  he  drew  from  life;  but 


292         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

more  than  in  the  majority  of  his  comedies  the 
success  depended  on  the  actor. 

During  these  ten  years  his  fecundity  was 
amazing.  No  less  than  sixty  came  in  quick 
succession.  Merely  to  mention  his  master- 
pieces, much  more  to  analyse  them,  would  be 
out  of  the  question  within  reasonable  limits. 
Moreover, they  scarcely  need  analysis.  Goldoni's 
plays  are  usually  so  simple  in  construction  that 
the  plot  is  of  little  consequence :  the  display  of 
contrasted  character,  the  cleverness  of  the 
dialogue  give  them  their  charm.  The  story  of 
his  successes  and  failures,  of  his  encounters  with 
rivals,  especially  with  the  Count  Rozzi,  is  all 
told  with  unfailing  humour  in  his  Memoirs. 

In  1760  came  his  great  play  /  Rusteghi,  in 
which  with  wonderful  skill  he  takes  four  similar 
characters  —  compared  to  the  same  person 
photographed  in  four  different  poses  —  to  prove, 
as  he  said  —  that  human  characters  are 
inexhaustible.  The  three  wives  make  a  suf- 
ficient contrast  and  the  action  is  full  of  life  and 
the  dialogue  of  humour. 

In  Venice  Goldoni's  chief  enemy  and  rival 
was  Count  Gozzi,  who  also  published  an  auto- 
biography which  has  been  translated  by  J.  A. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  293 

Symonds.  Gozzi's  family  having  been  ruined, 
he  became  an  adventurer  and  at  last  drifted  back 
to  Venice  where  he  produced  ridiculously  stilted 
fantastic  dramas  and  fiabe  for  the  company  of 
Sacchi.  Such  plays  as  "La  Donna  Serpente,"  "II 
Mostro  Turchino,"  "L'  Augellin,"  "Bel  Verde" 
and  "II  Re  dei  Genii"  pleased  the  public  and 
Goldoni  was  consequently  neglected.  The  petty 
quarrels  that  agitated  Venice  at  that  time  are  in 
themselves  comedies  but  they  were  not  conducive 
to  happiness  among  those  that  took  part  in  them. 
For  instance,  Gozzi  was  called  by  some  of  his 
adversaries  Bad  Count,  mal  cavaliere,  unworthy 
impostor,  liar,  false  philosopher:  and  he  retorted 
by  a  shower-bath  of  insults  in  which  he  used 
such  epithets  as  proud,  impudent,  of  viperous 
humour,  vindictive,  blind,  haughty,  impostor, 
mad,  petulant,  timid,  vile,  pedant,  dwarf-pedant 
and  dozens  of  others.  This  strange,  selfish, 
misanthropic  free  thinker  was  a  sturdy  fighter. 
He  died  in  1806  at  the  age  of  eighty-six. 

The  history  of  Venice  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury would  not  be  complete  without  notice  of 
Carlo  Gozzi. 

In  1761  Goldoni  was  invited  to  Paris  for  two 
years.  One  of  his  maschere,  "  Harlequin's  Son 


294         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Lost  and  Found,"  had  been  performed  there 
and  with  great  success.  He  made  an  effort  to 
secure  a  promised  living  in  Venice.  It  was  not 
granted  to  him  and  so  he  left  never  to  return. 
Among  his  last  works  written  for  Italian 
audiences  was  "Sior  Todero  Brontolon,"  which  is 
regarded  as  only  second  to  the  "Rusteghi."  It 
also  satirises  the  miser  who  is  a  tyrant  in  his 
own  family.  His  farewell  comedy  was  entitled 
"Una  delleUltime  SerediCarnevale,"  "The  Last 
Carnival  Evening,"  in  which  he  himself  as 
Anzoleto  assures  his  auditors  that  he  shall  ever 
remember  his  adoratissima  patria,  his  beloved 
friends.  "I  confess  and  swear  on  my  honour," 
says  the  leading  character,  "that  I  depart 
with  anguished  heart  [col  cuor  strazzo],  that  no 
allurement,  no  good  fortune  whatever  shall 
compensate  me  for  the  sorrow  [//  despiaser\  of 
being  far  from  those  that  wish  me  well." 

Goldoni,with  his  wife  and  nephew,  left  Venice 
in  April,  1762  —  not  the  preceding  year  as  he 
says  in  his  Memoirs  —  and  did  not  reach  Paris 
until  near  the  end  of  August.  Paris  enchanted 
him  but  he  did  not  find  all  easy  sailing.  There.as 
in  Italy,  he  was  obliged  to  conquer  the  pre- 
judices and  instruct  the  ignorance  of  the 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  295 

Italian  actors.  The  first  two  years  of  his  en- 
gagement produced  twenty-four  works,  eight 
of  which  kept  the  stage :  in  the  others,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  in  all,  there  was  a  certain  retro- 
gression, since  he  had  aimed  rather  at  winning  the 
applause  of  ignorance  than  of  satisfying  himself. 

His  Memoirs,  and  especially  his  letters,  give 
interesting  details  of  his  life  and  experiences  in 
Paris.  Instead  of  staying  there  two  years  and 
then  going  to  Portugal,  as  he  had  planned,  he 
stayed  on  for  thirty  years.  The  court  made 
him  independent  of  the  Italian  company;  he 
was  appointed  Italian  master  to  the  Royal 
children.  After  he  had  been  in  Paris  nine  years 
he  wrote  his  first  French  comedy,  "Le  Bourru 
Bienfaisant,"  "The  Kind  Churl,"  which  was 
played  in  November,  1771,  for  twelve  evenings. 
It  has  been  translated  into  English.  He  wrote 
one  other  in  French,  "L'Avare  Fastueux," which, 
though  full  of  comic  situations,  by  a  mere  acci- 
dent failed  to  please. 

With  characteristic  obliviousness  of  political 
events  he  was  serene  even  when  the  volcano  of 
the  French  Revolution  was  threatening  to  pour 
forth  its  destruction.  The  report  was  carried 
to  Italy  in  1792  that  Goldoni  had  been  guillo- 


296         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

tined.  He  escaped  but  he  was  reduced  to  poverty 
His  last  letter,  written  four  months  and  a  few 
days  before  his  death,  declared  that  he  had  un 
stomaco  valoroso  ed  un  cuore  sensibile. 

He  died  February  6,  1793.  On  the  day  fol- 
lowing the  poet  Chenier  introduced  into  the 
National  Convention  a  bill  to  continue  Goldoni's 
salary.  When  it  was  learned  that  it  was  too 
late,  the  Convention  granted  his  widow  a  pen- 
sion of  1,200  francs.  Whether  the  pension  was 
paid  may  well  be  doubted. 

Goldoni  must  have  been  a  most  entertaining 
and  fascinating  person.  Everything  testifies 
to  his  sunny,  gay  and  amusing  character.  Even 
his  peculiarities  were  piquant  and  original. 
Unfortunately  for  foreign  readers  some  of  his 
best  comedies  were  written  in  the  Venetian 
dialect  which  he  loved  and  which  he  was  en- 
gaged in  his  later  days  in  disposing  into  a  dic- 
tionary. It  may  be  interesting  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  some  of  his  principles  of  composition.  I  will 
therefore  translate  a  few  of  his  epigrammatic 
sayings : 

A  writer  who  writes  for  the  theatre  writes  for  the  people. 
Whatever  is  represented  on  the  stage  ought   always  to 
be  a  copy  of  what  happens  in  the  world. 


GOLDONI  AND  ITALIAN  COMEDY  297 

One  must  prefer  a  disagreeable  truth  to  a  delicious  im- 
agination. 

When  I  set  out  to  write  a  comedy  I  do  not  avail  my- 
self of  the  stories  or  the  works  of  others  ;  I  search  in  Nature 
and  according  as  it  is  natural  and  life-like  in  the  type  so  is 
it  in  the  character. 

The  simple  and  natural  far  more  than  the  marvellous 
control  the  heart  of  man. 

Spectacular  comedies  are  not  true  comedies,  and  if  I 
have  written  such  it  was  through  complacency. 

On  the  stage  the  moral  that  comes  from  the  most  com- 
monly approved  practices  should  prevail. 

Comedy  being  an  image  of  common  life,  its  end  and 
aim  ought  to  be  to  display  on  the  stage  the  faults  of  pri- 
vate individuals  in  order  to  cure  the  faults  of  the  public. 

My  whole  aim  has  not  been  to  satirize  and  punish  vice 
but  my  principal  object  [pnnctpalisstmo  scopo]  has  ever 
been  to  keep  virtue  in  sight,  to  reward  it,  to  fill  the  spectators 
with  love  of  it  and  to  give  it  greater  success  when  confronted 
with  vices  and  their  worst  causes. 

The  unity  of  the  action  is  an  indispensable  precept 
to  be  observed  in  dramas  when  the  argument  concerns 
one  principal  person.  But  when  the  collective  title  concerns 
more  persons  unity  itself  is  found  in  the  multiplicity  of 
actions.  It  is  not  true  that  the  characters  ought  to  be 
indispensable  according  as  the  comedy  could  not  be  carried 
on  without  them.  All  that  is  required  is  that  they  work 
together  well  and  in  harmony,  increasing  the  beauty  and 
the  intrigue. 

Double  entendre*  are  tolerable  in  comedies  when  it  can 
be  believed  that  the  least  malicious  can  interpret  them  in 
a  good  sense  ;  but  God  defend  me  from  scandalising  the 
innocent.  I  have  worked  and  ever  shall  work  in  the  sweat  of 


298         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

my  face  for  this  end  :  to  free  our  stage  from  obscenity  and 
vice  [malizia]  and  if  ever  the  comic  spirit  seduces  me  I 
am  glad  to  be  corrected. 

Characters  are  not  infinite  in  kind  but  in  species  ; 
while  every  virtue,  every  vice,  varies  according  to  circum- 
stances. 


VIII 

ALFIERI    AND    TRAGEDY 

T)  ANIERI  DE'  CASALBIGI,  in  a  long  letter 
••-  criticising  Alfieri's  first  four  printed 
tragedies,  begins  with  the  statement  that  the 
Italians  had  been  hitherto  shamefully  poor  in 
tragedy,  vergognasamente  poverl  nella  tragedia, 
and  after  making  some  very  reasonable  criticisms 
on  the  unnaturalness  of  the  complications,  the 
absurdity  or  puerility  of  the  conceptions,  the 
languidness  of  the  verse,  the  inharmoniousness 
of  the  poetry  of  the  Tragic  Muse  of  Italy,  he 
proceeds  to  suggest  the  reasons  why  there  was 
such  a  dearth  of  masterpieces. 

This  letter  was  written  more  than  a  century 
ago,  and  from  his  standpoint  is  quite  satisfactory: 
but  we  now  know  far  more  thoroughly  and 
understand  better  the  social  and  political  con- 
ditions of  the  past  two  centuries.  I  need  only 
hint  at  the  reasons:  the  spread  of  humanism 
which  made  men  contented  with  imitation  of 
the  models  left  by  Seneca;  the  lack  of  theatres 
and  consequently  of  adequate  professional 

299 


300         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

actors;  the  division  of  Italy  into  a  dozen  little 
independent  provinces,  with  no  central  capital  as 
heart  or  head — no  literary  language  universally 
understood;  the  jealousy  of  church  and  princes, 
many  of  whom  were  themselves  engaged  in  tra- 
gedies of  real  life  and  would  therefore  not  relish 
seeing  their  counterpart  represented  on  the  stage. 

De*  Casalbigi  looked  forward  to  the  time  when 
there  should  be  a  continuous  and  permanent 
theatre  in  which  the  best  actors  should  be  engag- 
ed at  liberal  salaries,  where  women  freed  from  the 
prejudices  that  attached  to  the  profession,  should 
have  equal  chances,  and  where  original  or  trans- 
lated dramas,  comic  and  tragic,  should  be  con- 
stantly on  the  stage,  giving  to  the  young  poet  prac- 
tical lessons  in  the  management  of  the  passions 
and  of  character,  in  the  treatment  of  plot  and  all 
the  details  so  indispensable  to  an  art  so  exacting. 

We  have  seen  how  the  influence  of  Plautus 
and  Terence  conditioned  the  Italian  comedy 
down  to  the  time  when  Goldoni  brought  about 
a  revolution  and  replaced  the  comedy  of  masks 
by  something  approaching  the  comedy  of 
character.  In  tragedy  the  Latin  influence  was 
still  more  stilted  and  unfortunate:  the  only 
Latin  model  of  consequence  was  the  semi- 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         301 

mythical  Seneca,  whose  dramas  were  rhetorical 
exercises  meant  to  be  declaimed  and  not  acted. 
The  revival  of  the  study  of  Greek  might  have 
given  a  better  stimulus  but  the  idea  generally 
prevalent  was  that  Seneca  was  superior  to  any 
of  the  great  Athenian  triumvirate. 

The  one  thing  that  occupied  the  Italian* 
dramatists  from  Trissino  whose  "Sofonisba"  is 
generally  regarded  as  the  first  tragedy,  down  to 
Goldoni,  was  the  observance  of  the  unities. 

The  three  unities  are  like  the  three  Gray 
Sisters:  two  are  mortal,  one  is  immortal.  The 
unity  of  action  is  in  its  broadest  signification 
absolutely  essential:  episodes  however  beautiful 
and  effective  only  detract  from  the  onflowing 
of  the  current  that  brings  the  fatal  climax. 
And  undoubtedly  unity  of  time  and  space  also 
greatly  concentrate  the  interest  when  it  can  be 
arranged  naturally.  But  the  power  of  the  imag- 
ination is  not  regarded,  and  the  efforts  of  the 
classic  dramatists  to  accomplish  impossibilities 
brought  about  most  ridiculous  absurdities. 


*  L'Anguillara  partially  translated  the  "Oidipous"  of  Sophokles,  sup- 
plying some  of  the  scenes  by  passages  from  Seneca.  This  was  published 
in  1565  in  Venice.  In  i574Tasso's"Torrismondo"  was  brought  out.  This 
is  written  in  the  same  meter  as  Alfieri's  Tragedies  and  the  poetry,  as 
might  be  imagined,  is  more  imaginative  than  dramatic. 


302         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

We  have  seen  how  Goldoni  was  born,  and 
educated  by  nature  for  the  work  of  reform  which 
he  succeeded  in  inaugurating,  his  observant 
genius  and  his  nomad  life  which  brought  him 
into  contact  with  every  variety  of  character, 
enabling  him  to  people  his  stage  with  a  vast 
variety  of  natural  personages. 

The  destined  reformer  of  the  tragic  drama 
had  a  life  scarcely  less  nomadic,  and  only  in  its 
individuality  less  amusing.  Goldoni  did  not 
hesitate  to  represent  himself  in  his  own  comedies; 
we  learn  to  know  the  man  thoroughly  from  such 
plays  as  "The  Honoured  Adventurer"  or  "The 
Last  Evening."  Especially  in  his  "  Memoirs  " 
his  enthusiasm,  his  frankness,  his  gaiety,  his 
shallowness,  his  lack  of  knowledge,  his  bon- 
homie) are  all  amply  manifest.  But  in  Alfieri's 
nineteen  tragedies  and  six  comedies,  and  even 
in  his  Autobiography  (which  like  Goldoni's  has 
been  published  with  an  introduction  by  Mr. 
Howells),  can  not  be  seen  a  trace  of  the  fiery, 
moody,  ill-disciplined,  restless,  proud  nature  of 
Count  Vittorio  Alfieri.  He  strips  himself  of 
all  his  characteristics:  his  plays  are  so  classic 
in  form  as  to  be  lacking  in  every  poetic  grace; 
he  tells  the  extraordinary  story  of  his  life  as  if 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         303 

he  were  a  critical  outsider  who  felt  no  interest 
in  the  matter  except  as  it  was  not  a  bad  idea  to 
have  a  correct  impression  of  his  life. 

"  If  I  may  perchance  lack  the  courage  or  the 
indiscretion  to  tell  the  whole  truth  about  myself," 
he  says,  "I  certainly  shall  not  be  cowardly 
enough  to  tell  anything  that  is  not  true. " 

He  regarded  the  fact  of  his  being  the  child 
of  noble,  opulent  and  honourable  parents  as 
trebly  important  in  his  development:  he  was 
enabled  to  attack  the  vices  and  foibles  of  the 
nobility  without  suspicion  of  envy,  while  the 
utile  e  sana  influenza  of  high  birth  kept  him 
from  ever  contaminating  the  nobility  of  the  art 
which  he  professed;  freedom  from  sordid  cares 
left  him  libero  e  puro  —  independent  and  un- 
tempted  to  serve  anything  but  the  truth;  while 
the  uprightness,  purity  and  generosity  of  his 
mother  and  stepfather  made  him  glad  that  he 
also  was  born  a  noble. 

His  father  was  Count  Antonio  Alfieri:  his 
mother  Monica  Maillard  de  Tournon,  the 
widow  of  the  Marchese  di  Cacherano.  Vittorio 
was  born  on  the  lyth  of  January,  1749,  at 
Asti  in  Piedmont;  less  than  a  year  afterward 
his  father  died  at  the  age  of  sixty.  His  mother 


304         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

being  still  a  young  woman  took  for  her  third 
husband  the  Cavaliere  Giacinto  Alfieri  di 
Maghano.  This  union  proved  to  be  beatis- 
sima  ed  esemplare.  He  especially  eulogises 
his  otttma  madre  stimabilissimay  her  ardentis- 
sima  eroica  pieta,  her  absolute  consecration  to 
the  relief  of  the  destitute,  her  strong  and  sublime 
character. 

His  early  years  he  calls  stupida  vegetazione 
and  among  his  earliest  remembrances  was  his 
grief  at  being  deprived  of  his  only  sister  Giulia, 
who  was  put  into  the  Convent  at  Asti  where 
he  could  see  her  only  once  a  week.  He  him- 
self was  confided  to  a  good  priest  named  Don 
Ivaldi  whom  he  calls  ignorantuccio:  but  it  was 
not  then  considered  necessary  for  a  Signore 
to  be  as  learned  as  a  Dottore. 

At  the  Chiesa  del  Carmine  next  his  step- 
father's house  he  was  in  the  habit  of  attending 
various  ceremonials  and  the  sight  of  the  Car- 
melite novices  in  their  white  surplices  and  with 
their  boyish  faces  which  seemed  to  remind  him 
of  his  sister,  filled  his  tender,  impressionable 
heart  with  a  vague  longing  and  melancholy. 
He  did  not  then  know  that  it  was  love  thus 
early  manifesting  itself.  Byron  was  equally 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        305 

precocious  in  this  flowering  of  the  heart:  but 
he  had  at  least  a  definite  object  in  his  pretty 
cousin  while  Alfieri's  passion  was  exhaled  in 
distant  contemplation  of  what  seemed  to  him 
angels  with  their  serene  faces,  their  censers  and 
candles,  their  genuflections  and  their  penetrat- 
ing songs. 

He  neglected  alike  his  studies  and  his  friends, 
and  under  the  burden  of  a  morbid  melancholy, 
tried  to  commit  suicide,  by  devouring  hand- 
fuls  of  weeds,  hoping  that  among  them  might 
be  that  called  hemlock.  He  only  succeeded 
in  making  himself  sick  at  the  stomach  and  as 
his  red  and  swollen  eyes  and  lack  of  appetite 
betrayed  him,  he  was  finally  compelled  to  con- 
fess the  truth,  whereupon  his  mother  with 
strange  lack  of  wisdom  made  his  malady  worse 
by  confining  him  to  his  chamber  for  several  days. 
A  still  more  absurd  attempt  to  regulate  his 
moodiness  was  made  when  he  was  sent  to  mass 
with  a  netted  nightcap  on.  Not  heeding  his 
shrieks  and  screams,  his  tutor,  the  priest,  dragged 
him  along  by  the  arm,  while  a  servant  pushed 
him  from  behind  and  thus  he  was  conducted  to 
the  distant  church  of  San  Martino  and  brought 
home  again  with  death  in  his  heart  as  he  says, 


3o6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

and  feeling  himself  forever  dishonoured.  His 
agony  resulted  in  an  illness  and  the  nightcap 
punishment  was  never  tried  again. 

Even  more  unwise  was  his  preparation  for  his 
first  spiritual  confession.  The  good  priest  Don 
Ivaldi  had  this  duty  in  charge  and  he  suggested 
to  the  boy  every  imaginable  sin,  most  of  which 
he  did  not  even  know  by  name.  And  when  he 
went  to  Padre  Angelo,  his  mother's  confessor 
he  was  absolved  on  condition  that  he  should 
kneel  down  at  his  mother's  feet  at  the  dinner- 
table  and  in  presence  of  all  ask  her  pardon  for 
all  his  past  failings.  This  had  been  arranged 
in  concert  with  his  mother  and  one  may  imagine 
the  torment  that  it  caused  his  sensitive  nature 
when  at  dinner-time  his  mother  looked  sternly 
at  him  and  demanded  if  he  had  done  his  whole 
duty  and  if  he  had  a  right  to  sit  down  with  the 
rest.  He  was  then  less  than  eight  years  old. 

Alfieri's  autobiography  is  divided  into  four 
epochs.  The  second  entitled  "Adolescenza" 
has  a  significant  subtitle:  —  "Embraces  eight 
years  of  uneducation"  —  abbraccia  otto  annt 
d'ineducazione.  A  childhood  so  ill-regulated 
was  followed  by  a  training  not  less  injudi- 
cious. Its  dangers  may  be  imagined  when  we 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         307 

read  that  at  nine  years  and  a  half  of  age  he  was 
as  it  were  dumped  into  the  Academy  of  Turin 
and  left  to  his  own  guidance;  his  only  safe- 
guard being  a  domestic  named  Andrea  or 
Alessandrino  who  was  so  far  superior  to  his  class 
that  he  knew  how  to  lead  and  write.  Of  the 
school  itself  he  says  "  no  moral  maxim  was  ever 
given,  no  vital  teaching,  and  who  would  have 
given  it  when  the  teachers  themselves  knew 
the  world  neither  by  theory  nor  by  practice?" 

His  picture  of  the  school  is  pathetic.  While 
the  boys  had  no  supervision  they  were  confronted 
constantly  by  the  spectacle  of  the  older  students 
and  the  king's  pages,  twenty  or  twenty-five  of 
them,  indulging  in  every  kind  of  dissipation, 
being  subject  to  no  kind  of  restraint  provided 
they  were  in  by  midnight.  He  expresses  his 
disgust  vigorously  when  he  compares  him- 
self to  an  ass  among  asses  kept  by  an  ass,  asino 
fra  asini  e  sotto  un  asino. 

In  spite  of  all  these  drawbacks  he  made  some 
advancement  or  at  least  was  promoted  at. the 
end  of  the  first  year  to  the  Umanita,  where  for 
still  another  year  his  habits  he  declares  were 
innocent!  e  purls simi:  his  only  dissipation  being 
the  perusal  of  four  volumes  of  Ariosto  which  he 


308         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

acquired  volume  by  volume  by  exchanging  his 
half  of  the  chicken  allowed  each  student  every 
Sunday.  Lack  of  food  and  sleep  stunted  his 
growth  and  debilitated  his  health,  so  that  he  com- 
pared himself  to  a  thin  pale  wax  candle — candel- 
otto  di  cero  sottilissimo  e  pallidissimo,  and  he 
broke  out  with  sores  so  disgusting  that  his  com- 
panions called  him  Carogna  and  Fradicia:  rotten, 
carrion.  His  copy  of  Ariosto  having  been  dis- 
covered it  was  taken  away  by  the  subprior  but 
the  loss  was  not  so  serious  to  him  because  he  could 
not  understand  it.  The  following  year  he  man- 
aged to  abstract  the  volumes  from  the  subprior's 
library  while  the  worthy  father  was  watching  a 
game  of  pallone  from  his  window:  this  was  all 
that  he  knew  of  Italian  literature  except  a  few 
of  Metastasio's  opera  librettos  and  some  of 
Goldoni's  comedies. 

"The  genius  for  things  dramatic,  the  germ  of 
which  was  possibly  implanted  in  me,  was  likely 
soon  to  be  hidden  or  extinguished  for  lack  of 
sustenance,  of  encouragement,  and  everything 
else.  And  in  very  fact  my  ignorance  and  that 
of  those  who  were  educating  me  and  the  negli- 
gence of  all  in  everything  could  not  have  been 
more  complete." 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        309 

One  bright  spot  in  his  life  was  the  transfer  of 
his  sister  to  a  convent  in  Turin  where  he  was 
enabled  to  see  her  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
His  uncle  who  had  been  absent  from  the  city 
as  governor  of  Cuneo,  discovered  his  wretched 
condition  and  brought  about  some  alleviation; 
and  another  relative,  his  father's  cousin  - 
semi-zio  —  Count  Benedetto  Alfieri,  first  archi- 
tect to  the  king,  began  to  take  some  notice  of 
him  though  the  fact  that  he  spoke  pure  Tuscan 
—  suo  benedetto  parlar  Toscano  —  which  was 
contraband  in  that  amphibious  city  —  was  a 
drawback  to  their  intercourse.  After  he  had, 
like  a  parrot,  mastered  the  pedantic  and  insipid 
philosophy  and  the  even  more  useless  mathema- 
tics of  the  Academy  and  had  been  passed  on  to 
the  University  he  was  treated  a  little  more  like 
a  human  being:  one  night  he  was  allowed  to 
stay  at  the  house  of  his  relative,  the  architect, 
and  it  was  an  occasion  to  be  marked  with  a 
white  stone,  for  he  was  taken  to  the  theatre  of 
Carignano  where  he  saw  an  opera  bouffe,  "  II 
Mercato  di  Malmantile,"  sung  by  the  best 
comic  singers  of  Italy. 

The  verve  and  variety  of  that  divine  music 
made  a  very  deep   impression  on  him  —  to  use 


310         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

his  own  phrase,  "left  a  furrow  of  harmony  in 
his  ears  and  in  his  imagination";  so  that  for 
a  week  he  was  immersed  in  an  extraordinary 
but  not  unpleasing  melancholy  which  disgusted 
him  more  than  ever  with  his  ordinary  pursuits, 
and  filled  his  mind  with  a  most  singular  ebulli- 
tion of  ideas  which  would  have  expressed  itself  in 
verse  if  he  had  only  known  how.  From  that 
time  forth  he  always  found  music  —  and  espe- 
cially the  voices  of  women — the  most  powerful 
and  indomitable  stimulant  of  his  mind,  heart 
and  intellect:  nothing,  he  says,  ever  caused  such 
varied  and  terrible  effects.  And  he  adds: 
"almost  all  of  my  tragedies  have  been  conceived 
either  while  hearing  music  or  shortly  after." 

In  August  1762,  his  uncle  Pellegrino  allowed 
him  to  visit  him  in  Cuneo  and  the  journey  in  the 
open  air  through  the  beautiful  plains  of  Piedmont 
was  very  beneficial  to  his  health  but  the  slow 
rate  of  travel  —  quella  ignobile  e  gelidatardezza 
del  pazzo  d'asino  — mortified  him  so  that  he 
shut  his  eyes  so  as  not  to  see;  nor  till  his  dying 
day  could  he  decide  whether  his  passion  for 
swift  motion  was  the  product  of  a  generous  and 
lofty  spirit  or  of  one  light  and  vainglorious. 

At  Cuneo  he  wrote  his  first  sonnet,  which  he 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        311 

confesses  was  a  hodgepodge  made  up  of 
Metastasio  and  Ariosto  but  without  correctness 
of  rhyme  or  meter  for  though  he  had  been  taught 
Latin  hexameters  and  pentameters,  he  knew 
nothing  about  the  rules  of  Italian  verse.  It  was 
in  homage  of  a  lady  whom  his  uncle  was  courting. 
The  lady  praised  it  and  the  lad  felt  that  he  was 
a  poet,  but  his  uncle,  a  severe  military  martinet, 
cared  nothing  about  the  nine  Muses  and  made 
all  manner  of  sport  of  what  he  calls  his  sonnet- 
taccio  primogenito^  wretched  little  first  born 
sonnet,  and  so  dried  up  his  poetic  vein  that  he 
did  not  again  desire  to  versify  till  he  was  five 
and  twenty.  During  the  year  1763  — he  being 
then  fourteen  —  his  afternoons  were  devoted 
to  the  lessons  in  ethics,  and  his  mornings  to 
physics  under  the  famous  Padre  Beccaria. 
He  always  regretted  that  his  wretched  prepara- 
tion in  mathematics  prevented  him  from  ap- 
preciating the  lectures  on  electricity,  so  rich  in 
fascinating  discoveries.  This  year  his  uncle  was 
made  Viceroy  of  Sardinia  and  on  his  departure  en- 
trusted Alfieri's  property  to  a  gentleman  who  was 
wise  enough  to  give  him  a  small  monthly  allow- 
ance. His  uncle  had  always  refused  to  do  so. 
Shortly  after,  the  troublesome  eruptive  dis- 


312         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ease  of  his  scalp  returned,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
sacrifice  his  long  red  hair  and  wear  a  wig.  The 
wig  was  a  source  of  immense  amusement  to 
Alfieri's  companions,  but  he  quickly  discovered 
that  the  way  to  avoid  such  persecution  was  to 
participate  in  making  a  football  of  the  wig: 
you  must  always  seem  to  give  spontaneously 
what  you  can  not  prevent  being  taken  from  you! 
He  had  lessons  in  geography  and  enjoyed 
them,  especially  as  his  tutor  taught  him  in 
French  and  lent  him  many  French  books  — 
*'  Gil  Bias" —  and  such  novels  as  "Les  Memoires 
d'un  Homme  de  Qualite"  which  he  read  through 
at  least  ten  times.  He  had  piano  lessons  but 
in  spite  of  a  quick  ear  and  a  natural  gift,  he  made 
little  progress.  He  attributed  this  to  the  lessons 
coming  immediately  after  dinner  when  his 
mind  was  unfitted  for  any  exercise.  For 
fencing  he  was  quite  too  feeble  and  he  detested 
dancing,  largely  because  the  dancing-master 
was  a  Frenchman  newly  arrived  from  Paris 
with  a  politely  impertinent  air  and  an  eternal 
caricature  in  his  actions  and  words.  He 
attributed  to  this  puppet  his  life-long  dislike  of 
the  French  and  their  affairs  which,  says  he,  "are 
nothing  but  a  perpetual  minuet  badly  danced!" 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        313 

He  had  other  reasons  for  his  dislike,  however, 
and  one  was  that  when  a  very  small  boy  he  had 
seen  the  Duchess  of  Parma  and  her  French 
suite,  all  painted  and  powdered.  Another 
still  more  deeply  seated  was  that  the  French 
had  once  been  masters  of  his  native  town  and 
had  been  captured  six  or  seven  thousand  strong 
and  were  therefore  in  his  idea  cowards. 

His  uncle,  six  months  after  going  to  Sardinia, 
died,  leaving  his  property  to  him,  and  by  the 
laws  of  Piedmont  he  was  his  own  master,  having 
now  reached  the  age  of  fourteen.  His  curatore 
or  guardian  had  authority  only  to  keep  him 
from  alienating  his  real  estate. 

He  was  at  the  same  time  delivered  from  the 
tyranny  of  his  valet  Andrea  who  when  drunk 
beat  him,  and  when  sober  locked  him  in  his 
room  for  hours  at  a  time.  In  spite  of  this 
atrocious  treatment  Alfieri  was  exceedingly 
fond  of  the  fellow  and  for  weeks  after  his  dis- 
missal went  to  visit  him  and  from  time  to  time 
gave  him  all  the  pocket  money  he  had. 

The  prior  of  the  Academy  knowing  how 
anxious  he  was  to  enter  the  riding-school,  gave 
him  permission,  providing  he  would  obtain 
from  the  University  the  first  grade  of  the  docto- 


A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 


rate  called  il  Magistero.  He  went  through  a 
regular  system  of  cramming  and  in  less  than  a 
month  he  had  passed  the  necessary  examination: 
and  soon  was  possessor  of  a  horse.  To  the 
exercise  of  horsemanship  which  he  calls  place- 
vole  e  nobilissimo,  he  considered  that  he  owed 
all  the  health  and  robustness  to  which  he 
rapidly  attained  and  which  made  a  new  man 
of  him. 

Under  his  new  sense  of  freedom  he  declares 
it  was  incredible  how  his  crest  was  elevated.  He 
informed  the  prior  and  his  curatore  that  the 
study  of  the  law  bored  him  to  death  and  was  a 
waste  of  time.  So  he  was  transferred  to  the 
first  apartment  where  he  says  he  had  a  splen- 
did table  regally  served,  much  dissipation,  very 
little  study,  much  sleeping,  riding  horseback 
every  day  and  almost  absolute  liberty  of  action. 

Most  of  his  companions  were  foreigners  and 
as  he  conversed  with  them  in  French  or  Latin 
and  spent  no  small  part  of  his  time  reading 
French  romances,  he  actually  forgot  what  he 
calls  quel  poco  di  trtste  Toscano  he  had  managed 
to  pick  up  during  three  years  of  burlesque 
studies  of  the  humanities  and  asinine  rhetorical 
branches. 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        315 

How  ill-directed  his  efforts  were  may  be 
judged  from  the  fact  that  he  read  the  thirty-six 
volumes  of  Fleury's  "Histoire  Ecclesiastique" 
and  made  abstracts  of  eighteen  volumes  of  it. 
The  sole  value  of  this  enormous  labour  was  that 
he  was  wakened  to  a  distrust  of  priests  and  their 
doings  —  le  loro  cose.  Remember  he  was  only  a 
boy  of  less  than  fifteen ! 

His  servitor  was  required  to  go  with  him 
wherever  he  went  but  though  a  good  natured 
fellow  and  easily  bribed,  Alfieri  objected  to  even 
this  semblance  of  restriction,  as  he  was  the  only 
one  in  the  first  apartment  burdened  with  such  a 
monitor.  So  he  began  to  go  out  alone  without 
him.  But  when  he  was  detected  several  times 
after  admonition,  he  was  put  under  house  arrest 
and  finally  kept  in  his  room  more  than  three 
months.  The  coldness  and  self  restraint  of  his 
autobiography  may  be  seen  in  the  few  lines 
which  he  devotes  to  this  barbarous  treatment. 

I  persisted  in  my  unwillingness  to  ask  to  be  released: 
and  thus  in  my  fury  and  my  obstinacy  I  believe  that  I 
would  have  rotted  but  never  have  yielded.  I  used  to  sleep 
almost  all  day,  then  toward  night  get  up  and,  dragging  a 
mattress  close  to  the  grate,  stretch  myself  on  the  floor  and, 
as  I  was  unwilling  to  receive  the  ordinary  dinner  of  the 
Academy  which  they  brought  to  my  room,  I  used  to  cook 


3i6         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

polenta  and  such  things  by  the  fire.  My  hair  was  not 
combed,  nor  did  I  put  on  my  clothes  and  I  grew  to  be 
like  a  savage.  I  was  forbidden  to  leave  my  room  but  my 
outside  friends,  the  faithful  companions  of  our  heroic 
escapades,  were  allowed  to  visit  me.  But  I  would  lie  deaf 
and  dumb  and  like  an  inanimate  corpse,  making  no  reply 
to  anything  that  was  said  to  me.  And  thus  I  continued 
whole  hours  with  my  eyes,  full  of  unshed  tears,  fastened  on 
the  ground. 

Not  a  comment!     Not  a  complaint!     Not  a 
flourish!     Not  an  extra  word! 

He  goes  on  to  tell  how  the  marriage  of  his 
sister  to  Count  Giacinto  di  Cumiana  released 
him  from  this  life  of  a  truly  brute  beast  - 
questa  vita  di  vero  bruto  bestia.  He  was  put 
on  an  equality  with  the  other  young  men  and  his 
guardian  was  compelled  to  give  him  a  larger 
allowance.  He  spent  it  on  horses,  acquiring 
eight  in  a  single  year,  and  in  magnificent  clothing, 
out  of  rivalry  with  some  young  Englishmen  who 
were  in  the  University.  He  tells  how  after 
dining  with  his  comrades  in  the  Academy  he 
would  change  his  splendid  clothes  for  much 
simpler  ones  so  as  not  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  his 
poorer  friends  in  the  city,  and  this  he  did,  he 
says,  out  of  a  natural  and  invincible  repugnance 
to  seeming  to  outshine  anyone  whom  he 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         317 

knew  or  felt  to  be  inferior  to  him  in  physical 
powers,  talent,  generosity,  disposition  or  purse. 
He  also  had  an  elegant  carriage  built  for  him, 
though  he  confessed  that  it  was  a  most  useless 
absurdity  for  un  ragazzaccio  of  sixteen  in  a  city 
so  microscopic  as  Turin,  but  he  never  rode  out 
in  it  for  the  same  laudable  reasons  but  always 
went  a  sante  gambe  —  which  may  mean  on  horse- 
back or  on  foot. 

He  ends  the  chapter  in  which  he  gives  these 
details  with  the  observation  that  amid  the  many 
perversities  of  a  tumultuous,  idle,  untrained  and 
ill-regulated  life,  he  could  discern  in  himself 
a  natural  inclination  toward  justice,  equality 
and  generosity  of  spirit.  A  ten  days'  trip  to 
Genoa  where  he  first  saw  the  sea  had  a  great 
effect  on  his  imagination.  And  again  he  was 
tempted  to  write  verses,  but  how  could  he  when 
for  almost  two  years  he  had  scarcely  opened 
a  book  except  some  of  Voltaire's  prose  works  and 
a  few  French  novels  ?  Neither  did  his  first  real 
passion  for  the  sister-in-law  of  two  of  his  com- 
rades elicit  a  single  sonnet  though  he  felt  all 
the  symptoms  "so  learnedly  and  pathetically 
imaged  by  our  divine  master  of  that  divine 
passion,  il  Petrarca." 


3i8         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

His  journey  to  Genoa  awoke  in  him  an 
immense  desire  to  travel. 

After  a  farcical  service  in  the  army,  he 
succeeded  in  extorting  from  his  guardian  and 
from  the  jealous  king  permission  to  be  gone  for 
a  year.  He  left  Turin  in  October  1766. 

And  here  begins  the  third  epoch  of  his  life, 
comprising  eight  years  of  travels  and  dissolutezze. 

In  the  Ambrosian  Library  at  Milan  an  auto- 
graph MS.  of  Petrarca  was  shown  him,  but  it 
did  not  interest  him!  His  sole  idea  of  travel  was 
to  fly  from  place  to  place  with  all  conceivable 
swiftness,  not  stopping  for  either  paintings  or 
sculpture  or  even  architecture.  At  Florence, 
instead  of  making  the  most  of  his  opportunities 
to  practise  the  divine  language,  he  took  lessons 
in  English.  A  day  in  Lucca  seemed  to  him  a 
century. 

Obtaining  permission  to  extend  his  travels, 
he  went  to  Paris,  being  principally  attracted  by 
the  hope  of  enjoying  the  theatre.  But  neither  at 
this  time  nor  when  he  had  seen  in  Turin  a  com- 
pany of  French  actors,  nor  for  some  years  later, 
had  the  thought  ever  arisen  in  his  mind  that  he 
might  some  day  write  theatrical  compositions. 
And  he  says  that  though  he  knew  the  principal 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        319 

French  comedies  and  tragedies,  and  always 
listened  with  attention,  still  it  was  without  the 
slightest  thought  or  impulse  toward  creation. 
And  at  this  time  comedy  pleased  him  more 
than  tragedy  though  he  was  more  inclined  to 
tears  than  to  mirth.  He  explains  his  indif- 
ference to  French  tragedy  by  the  fact  that  whole 
scenes  and  even  acts  were  devoted  to  dialogues 
between  secondary  characters,  thus  lengthening 
the  action  and  dissipating  the  effect.  He 
was  also  disagreeably  impressed  by  the  monot- 
ony and  sing-song  of  the  French  verse  and  the 
unpleasing  nasal  tones. 

He  spent  some  time  in  Marseilles  where  he  got 
great  enjoyment  from  sea-bathing,  going  quite 
a  distance  from  the  port  and  sitting  with  his 
back  against  a  high  rock,  so  that  he  had  only 
the  vast  immensities  of  sea  and  sky  before  him, 
while  his  soul  was  rapt  within  him  at  sight 
of  the  setting  sun,  and  he  would  fain  have  com- 
posed many  poems  had  he  only  known  how  to 
write  in  rhyme  or  in  prose  in  any  language. 

Yet  when  he  became  tired  of  Marseilles,  he 
says  he  went  more  like  a  fugitive  than  a  traveller, 
night  and  day,  pausing  not  at  Aix  with  its  lovely 
smiling  landscape,  nor  at  Avignon  where  was 


320         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Laura's  tomb,  nor  at  Vaucluse  so  long  the  home 
of  our  divine  Petrarca;  only  at  Lyons  was  he 
compelled  by  sheer  weariness  to  pause  and  rest. 
From  there  he  flew  to  Paris  as  an  arrow  is  sent 
from  a  bow.  Paris  then  was  very  different  from 
the  clean,  magnificent  city  of  to-day.  And  the 
contrast  between  the  smiling  landscapes  of  Prov- 
ence and  the  wretched  suburb  of  Saint  Marcel, 
the  foul-smelling,  muddy*  Faubourg  Saint  Ger- 
main, the  tasteless  architecture  of  the  houses,  the 
ridiculous  pretensions  of  the  palaces,  the  Gothic 
taste  displayed  in  the  churches,  and  the  vandal- 
like  structure  of  the  theatres,  and  the  pessima- 
mente  architettate  facce  implastrate  of  the  women, 
all  seen  under  the  gloom  of  a  misty  sky,  entirely 
disenchanted  him;  though  he  liked  the  beau- 
tiful gardens  and  the  thronged  boulevards  and 
the  handsome  coaches  and  the  splendid  facade 
of  the  Louvre  and  the  innumerable  shows. 

But  the  general  impression  of  disgust  with 
Paris,  where  for  two  weeks  he  did  not  once  see 
the  sun,  never  faded  from  his  mind:  it  was  just 
as  vivid  twenty-three  years  later.  But  he  was 
delighted  with  London  and  England  and  would 

*  It  seems  strange  to  think  of  the    Roya!    Coach    being    embourbee 
— stuck  in  the  mud — between  Versailles  and  Paris. 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         321 

gladly  have  lived  there  all  his  days;  the  beauty 
of  the  country,  the  unaffected  customs,  the 
fair  and  modest  women  and  girls  and  the  just 
government  and  liberty  engendered  therefrom 
made  him  almost  forget  the  wretched  climate, 
the  melancholy  ever  present  and  the  ruinous 
cost  of  living  there. 

In  Holland  he  had  his  first  serious  love- 
affair  and  while  he  was  languishing  in  the 
net,  the  Portuguese  Minister  to  The  Hague,  a 
man  of  great  talent  and  originality,  of  con- 
siderable culture,  warm-hearted  and  high- 
spirited  quite  won  his  sympathy  and  confidence. 
He  tells  how  he  used  to  speak  dell'  amata  alV 
amico  e  delV  amico  air  amata.  This  worthy 
friend  gave  him  excellent  counsel,  which  made 
him  ashamed  of  his  stupid  lazy  life,  never  open- 
ing a  book,  of  his  ignorance  and  especially  his 
neglect  of  the  Italian  poets  and  philosophers. 

Among  other  writers  he  mentioned  Ma- 
chiavelli  whom  Alfieri  knew  only  by  name 
and,  as  it  were,  obscured  by  prejudices.  He 
for  the  first  time  noticed  what  often  afterwards 
occurred  to  his  observation  that  only  while  he  was 
deeply  in  love  did  he  feel  a  passion  for  study 
and  an  impetus  and  effervescence  of  creative 


322         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

ideas.  The  husband  of  the  fair  Dutch  dame 
kept  flying  about  the  country:  he  was  not  at 
all  jealous  and  after  them  flew  poor  Alfieri 
like  the  tail  of  a  kite. 

When  the  time  came,  however,  for  the 
Baroness  to  say  a  final  adieu  to  her  fiery  lover, 
she  left  him  a  little  note  and  the  young  man  was 
so  desperate  that  he  tried  to  commit  suicide  by 
bleeding  to  death.  He  hired  a  doctor  to  bleed 
him  and  when  the  doctor  was  gone  he  tore  off 
the  bandage  but  his  faithful  servant  discovered 
his  condition  and  brought  him  to  his  senses. 

Soon  after  this  he  returned  to  Italy  travelling 
with  his  usual  rapidity,  seeing  nothing  of  Nancy, 
Strasbourg,  Basle,  or  Geneva  except  their  walls; 
nor  speaking  a  word  during  the  twenty  days  of  the 
journey,  while  Elia  humouring  his  whim,  used 
signs  as  if  he  had  been  deaf  and  dumb.  While 
wearing  off  the  melancholy  effects  of  this  ridi- 
culous love  affair  he  varied  his  solitude  by  read- 
ing Rousseau,  Montesquieu,  Voltaire  and  other 
French  works.  Plutarch  also  came  into  his 
hands  and  the  stories  of  the  great  men  of  the 
past  kindled  in  his  mind  the  love  for  glory  and 
virtue  and  what  he  calls  the  soddisfacentissima 
arie  del  rendere  bene  per  male — the  all  satisfying 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        323 

art  of  rendering  good  for  evil.  This  was  to  him 
the  book  of  books  and  he  tells  how  when  he 
came  across  certain  passages  he  would  spring  to 
his  feet  in  the  keenest  agitation,  quite  beside  him- 
self, while  tears  of  grief  and  rage  poured  down 
his  cheeks  at  the  thought  that  he  had  been  born 
in  Piedmont,  at  a  time  and  under  a  king  when 
there  was  no  chance  for  either  action  or  speech. 

He  gives  a  most  naive  and  amusing  account  of 
a  plan  to  marry  him  to  a  very  beautiful  black- 
eyed  young  lady  with  large  possessions  and  a 
title;  but  his  reputation  for  eccentricity  and 
lack  of  good  manners  caused  the  negotiations  to 
fall  through.  His  good  fortune,  he  says,  saved 
him  from  this  marriage  to  which  he  was  in- 
clined. The  girl,  Fie  adds,  acted  most  wisely  for 
her  well-being,  for  she  spent  a  happy  life 
in  the  home  of  the  young  gentleman  whom  she 
married  and  the  result  was  that  Alfieri  was 
reserved  for  the  service  of  the  Muses. 

The  plans  for  his  diplomatic  career,  as  well  as 
the  plans  matrimonial,  all  went  up  in  smoke. 
He  was  free  to  travel  and  so  with  an  increased 
allowance  of  spending  money  —  2,500  zechins 
equal  to  about  $6,000  a  year  —  he  started  off 
through  Germany,  Hungary,  Denmark  and 


324         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

Sweden.  Montaigne  was  now  his  daily  com- 
panion, but  the  Latin  quotations  were  an  almost 
insuperable  obstacle  and  the  occasional  pas- 
sages from  the  early  Italian  poets  were  beyond 
his  comprehension.  "Such,"  says  he,  "was  the 
primitive  ignorance  in  me  and  my  lack  of  prac- 
tice in  that  divine  language  which  every  day  I 
was  more  and  more  losing  the  use  of." 

At  Vienna  where  he  might  have  met  Metas- 
tasio  he  declined  the  introduction,  feeling  that 
the  society  which  met  at  his  house  was  only 
una  brigata  di  pedanti.  Besides  he  had  ac- 
tually seen  the  poet  on  his  knees  kissing  Maria 
Teresa's  hand  with  a  face  expressive  of  such  ser- 
vile delight  and  obsequiousness  that  in  his 
newly  acquired  Plutarchian  spirit  of  democracy 
he  felt  that  he  could  never  shake  hands  with  a 
Muse  sold  to  a  despot  so  warmly  abhorred. 

At  Berlin  the  military  spirit  also  disgusted 
him,  but  he  was  presented  to  Frederick  the  Great. 
At  seeing  him  he  confessed  to  no  feeling  either 
of  wonder  or  of  respect,  but  rather  of  indigna- 
tion and  fury.  He  even  refused  to  wear  the 
Court  uniform,  and  when  the  King's  minister 
asked  him  his  reason  he  replied  that  it  seemed 
to  him  there  were  plenty  of  them.  The  King, 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        325 

he  says,  uttered  the  usual  meaningless  formali- 
ties. "I  studied  him  deeply,  respectfully  look- 
ing into  his  face  and  I  thanked  heaven  that  I 
was  not  born  his  slave." 

At  Copenhagen,  which  especially  delighted 
him  because  it  was  not  Prussia  or  Berlin,  he  had 
a  chance  to  practise,  or  at  least  to  hear,  pure 
Tuscan  spoken  by  the  Neapolitan  minister  to 
Denmark.  Under  this  influence  he  even  read 
the  Dialogues  of  Aretino,  the  originality,  variety 
and  correctness  of  which  delighted  him. 

Sweden  gave  him  a  practical  acquaintance 
with  Ossian  before  he  had  ever  read  any  of  that 
humbugging  bard's  rhapsodies.  The  sudden 
appearance  of  spring  in  that  far  northern  climate 
again  made  him  feel  like  tuning  his  harp  but 
alas!  he  knew  not  how  to  play. 

He  had  a  great  desire  to  visit  Russia,  having 
heard  his  Russian  schoolmates  at  the  Academy 
boast  of  their  land.  After  a  most  exciting  and 
dangerous  voyage  from  Stockholm  to  Abo  and 
from  Abo  to  Petersburg,  he  was  once  more 
bitterly  disappointed.  The  great  barrack-like 
palaces  of  that  Asiatic  encampment,  as  he  called 
it,  seemed  laughable.  He  refused  to  be  pre- 
sented to  la  Clitenestra  filosofessa,  the  Semiramis 


326         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

of  the  North,  Catherine  the  Second,  and  he 
accounts  for  his  "uselessly  barbarian  behaviour" 
by  attributing  it  to  his  inflexible  intolerance,  his 
utmost  hatred  of  tyranny  in  the  abstract,  and 
more  especially  because  she  was  guilty  of  having 
poisoned  her  husband. 

Alfieri's  second  visit  to  London,  in  1771,  was 
rendered  notable  by  a  love  affair  with  a  vis- 
countess. The  whole  story  reads  like  one  of 
Cardinal  Bibbiena's  comedies  nor  do  I  know 
anything  more  ludicrous  in  the  modern  system 
of  duelling  as  practised  by  French  deputies  and 
novelists  than  Alfieri's  sword  battle  with  the 
injured  husband.  Driven  out  of  his  senses  by 
his  passion  for  the  fair  lady  he  spent  the  time 
away  from  her  presence  in  galloping  about  on  a 
very  fiery  and  impetuous  steed.  In  trying  to 
clear  a  gate  the  horse  fell  with  him,  breaking 
his  collar-bone  and  dislocating  his  shoulder.  It 
was  some  time  before  he  began  to  feel  the  pain. 
The  surgeon  set  the  bones  and  ordered  him  to 
stay  in  bed, but  not  he.  He  was  bound  to  keep  an 
appointment  with  her  ladyship  who  was  staying 
at  a  villa  about  sixteen  miles  from  London. 

When  he  got  back  after  all  manner  of  adven- 
tures his  bandages  were  out  of  place  and  his 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        327 

shoulder  in  a  terrible  state.  The  surgeon 
pulled  him  together  again,  but  the  following 
evening  he  insisted  on  going  to  the  opera. 
While  apparently  listening  to  the  music,  his 
face  like  marble,  betraying  no  emotion  while 
mille  tempeste  terribili  were  agitating  his  heart, 
he  was  called  out  and  there  stood  the  viscount. 
The  conversation  was  short  and  to  the  point  — 
to  the  point  of  the  sword.  They  adjourned  to 
Green  Park  and  had  their  duel,  Alfieri  apparently 
trying  to  provoke  his  adversary  to  kill  him  and 

the  Lord  L as  obstinately  refusing  to  take 

any  such  advantage  from  a  man  who  had  his 
arm  in  a  sling.  They  fought  for  ten  minutes, 
and  then  Alfieri  received  a  slight  scratch  in  his 
arm,  and  the  militant  husband  declared  his 
honour  was  satisfied.  Alfieri  tied  up  his  little 
wound  with  his  teeth,  and  finding  it  not  painful 
returned  to  the  box  where  he  had  been  sitting 
and  heard  the  rest  of  the  opera. 

After  it  was  over  he  went  to  the  house  of  a 
lady  who  knew  Lady  L -.  There  to  his  amaze- 
ment he  found  la  stessa  stessissima  donna  mia  — 
her  ladyship  herselfmost.  He  soon  found  that 
she  was  a  most  contemptible  character,  and 
only  that  discovery  prevented  him  from 


328         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

doing  exactly  what  Lord  Byron  a  generation 
later  proposed  to  do  with  the  Countess  Guiccioli 
—  namely  to  fly  to  America  —  "  the  world 
forgetting  by  the  world  forgot."  There  is  a 
very  curious  analogy  between  Lord  Byron's 
career  and  Alfieri's:  the  neglected  childhood, 
the  erratic  youth,  the  early  susceptibility,  the 
long  journeys,  the  numberless  intrigues  and 
finally  the  irregular  relationship  which  lasted 
through  the  last  part  of  their  lives. 

The  finale  of  Alfieri's  adventure  was  just  as 
ridiculous  as  any  other  part  of  it,  but  as  Lord 

L did  not  see  fit  to  sue  him  for  alienating 

his  wife's  affections,  the  impetuous  poet  left 
England  and  soon  found  himself  in  Paris  again, 
where  out  of  mere  whim  he  refused  to  meet 
Rousseau,  though  he  felt  the  highest  esteem  for 
his  pure  and  lofty  character  and  his  sublime  and 
independent  conduct. 

He  atoned  for  this  by  making  the  acquain- 
tance of  seven  or  eight  of  the  first  men  of  Italy 
and  of  the  world:  Dante,  Petrarca,  Ariosto, 
Tasso,  Boccaccio  and  Machiavelli.  In  other 
words,  he  bought  36  volumes  of  prose  and  poetry 
and  he  says  that  these  illustrious  masters  hence- 
forth accompanied  him  wherever  he  went.  He 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        329 

had  left  all  his  English  horses  in  England, 
selling  all  but  one;  now  he  went  to  Spain  and  as 
usual  paid  no  attention  to  the  lovely  landscapes 
on  the  way.  But  to  atone  he  bought  two  Span- 
ish horses  of  noble  pedigree,  one  a  golden  chest- 
nut Andalusian  —  un  stupendo  ammale,  castagno 
d'oro.  And  in  Barcelona  he  actually  had  the 
enterprise  to  read  "Don  Quixote"  with  the  aid 
of  a  grammar  and  dictionary. 

He  crossed  the  wide  desert  plains  of  Arragon 
rather  slowly  with  his  beautiful  horse  trotting 
by  him  like  a  faithful  dog,  while  behind  him 
came  all  his  servants  and  mules  and  other  live 
stock.  He  was  uncertain  whether  it  was  good 
fortune  or  ill  fortune  that  he  had  no  means  of 
expressing  himself  at  that  time  in  verse;  for  he 
would  have  poured  forth  a  perfect  flood  of 
rhymes  expressive  of  the  melancholy  and  moral 
thoughts  and  varying  images  called  up  by  those 
wide  solitudes  and  the  constant  motion. 

At  Madrid  his  servant  Elia  while  arranging 
his  hair  accidentally  pulled  it,  and  Alfieri  in 
ungovernable  rage  hurled  the  candle  at  him 
and  narrowly  escaped  killing  him  on  the  spot. 
It  struck  his  temple  and  caused  the  blood  to 
spurt  forth,  and  the  valet  being  hot  tempered 


330         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

would  in  turn  have  killed  Alfieri  had  not  the 
other  servants  interfered  to  stop  a  quarrel  which 
he  calls  tragicomica  e  scandalosissima.  But  that 
night  Alfieri  slept  with  his  door  open  next 
Elia's  room  and  offered  him  free  chance  for 
vengeance.  Elia  was  too  much  of  a  hero  to 
avail  himself  of  it,  and  contented  himself  with 
keeping  the  two  handkerchiefs  which  bound 
up  his  bleeding  temple,  and  occasionally  showing 
them  to  his  master. 

At  Madrid  he  visited  neither  the  Escorial  nor 
the  Aranjuez  nor  the  King's  palace,  and  the 
only  acquaintance  that  he  made  was  that  of  a 
poor  watchmaker. 

At  Lisbon  he  was  more  fortunate:  the  Abate 
Tommaso  di  Caluso,  brother  of  the  Piedmontese 
Minister  to  Portugal,  conceived  a  great  friend- 
ship for  him  and  with  equal  tact  and  kindness 
tried  to  turn  his  mind  to  the  noble  things  of 
literature.  He  insisted  that  Alfieri  was  born 
to  be  a  poet  and  that  it  was  not  too  late  for  him, 
by  study,  to  become  one  equal  to  the  greatest.* 

*  His  Andalusian  steed  he  presented  to  a  banker  to  whom  he  applied 
for  a  letter  of  credit  in  exchange  for  300  Spanish  doubloons.  The 
banker  showed  his  gratitude  by  cheating  him  and  this  confirmed  him 
in  his  opinion  of  that  class  of  people,  who,  he  says,  had  always  seemed 
to  him  one  of  the  vilest  and  worst  —  in  the  social  world  —  the  more 
when  they  affect  being  gentlemen! 


After  three  years'  absence  he  reached  Turin  in 
May,  1772,  and  soon  after  took  a  magnificent 
house  luxuriously  furnished,  and  as  he  was 
unmarried  and  quite  free,  he  used  twice  a  week 
to  assemble  in  his  salon  a  brigata  of  young  men 
whose  sole  object  was  amusement  Among  their 
amusements  was  the  reading  of  compositions 
which  were  handed  in  anonymously.  Alfieri 
himself  wrote  several  in  very  mediocre  French : 
one  was  a  scene  representing  the  last  judgment 
when  God  demanded  of  various  souls  a  short 
account  of  their  actions:  he  introduced  several 
well-known  characters  and  the  wit  and  satire 
caused  much  amusement.  His  natural  inclina- 
tion was  to  satire  and  the  ridiculous,  but  thought 
and  reflection  caused  him  even  then  to  recognise 
that  it  was  the  fruit  of  malignity  and  natural 
envy  and  therefore  not  worthy  to  be  cultivated. 

Having  been  caught,  as  he  expresses  it,  in  a 
third  net  of  love,  he  made  his  first  attempt  at 
a  tragedy.  The  lady  whom  he  was  serving 
was  of  high  rank,  older  than  he  and  bore  a  not 
very  savoury  reputation  in  society.  Once  when 
she  fell  dangerously  ill  and  he  had  been  sitting 
in  perfect  silence  from  morning  to  night  at  the 
foot  of  her  bed,  he  beguiled  the  tedium  by  writing 


332         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

a  dramatic  piece  (whether  tragedy  or  comedy 
in  one,  five  or  ten  acts,  he  could  not  say)  but  in 
the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  Photinus, 
Cleopatra  and  a  female  whom  he  called  Lachesi, 
forgetting  that  Lachesis  was  one  of  the  three 
Fates. 

In  his  autobiography  Alfieri  gives  some  speci- 
mens of  this  precious  composition  that  the 
reader  might  judge  for  himself  of  the  leanness 
of  his  poetic  patrimony  at  that  time.  The 
verses  rhyme  irregularly:  some  lines  are  too 
long  and  some  are  too  short;  bad  grammar  and 
erratic  punctuation  are  everywhere  in  evidence 
against  his  training,  but  he  persevered  till  he  got 
half  through  the  first  scene  of  the  third  act, 
when  the  lady  saw  fit  to  get  well. 

His  attempts  to  free  himself  from  this  un- 
worthy servitude  were  as  abortive  as  his  rhymed 
dialogue  but  vastly  funnier.  If  he  had  only  had 
the  comic  vein  of  Goldoni!  He  tells  in  the  story 
which  he  sent  to  a  friend  how  he  once  started 
off  to  be  gone  a  year  but  was  back  within 
eighteen  days,  unable  to  endure  separation;  how, 
when  once  more  he  resolved  to  break  the  yoke, 
he  cropped  his  long  red  hair — lunga  e  r'icca  treccia 
dei  miei  rosissimi  capelli — (for  only  peasants 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        333 

and  sailors  wore  their  hair  short)  and  stayed 
in  the  house  for  five  or  six  days,  seeing  his 
Calypso  going  in  and  out  of  her  house,  which 
faced  his  and  even  hearing  her  voice;  and  how 
like  another  Ulysses  fearing  lest  her  siren-song 
should  be  too  much  for  him  he  obliged  Elia 
to  tie  him  into  his  chair  lest  he  should  escape 
and  become  a  slave  again.  The  cord  was  con- 
cealed under  a  large  cloak,  but  his  hands  were 
left  free  for  writing  or  reading  and  no  one  see- 
ing him  would  suspect  that  he  was  fastened! 

Thus  struggling  with  his  fate,  he  read,  but 
often  he  understood  not  a  word  of  what  he  had 
been  reading  and  he  wrote  his  first  sonnet,  which 
runs  as  follows: 

At  last  I  have  won  the  day,  unless  I  am  deceived,  the  day 
I  have  won;  quenched  is  the  flame  which  burnt  voraciously 
this  poor  heart  of  mine  caught  by  unworthy  snares:  whose 
motions  blind  Love  controlled. 

Before  I  loved  thee,  O  Lady,  I  knew  well,  that  such  a 
fire  (of  passion)  was  wrong  and  a  thousand  times  I  have 
avoided  it  and  conquered  love  a  thousand  times  so  that  it 
was  not  alive  nor  yet  extinct. 

The  long  pain  and  the  grievous  tears,  the  keen  torments 
and  the  cruel  bitter  doubt  ('whereby  the  life  of  lovers  is 
entwined')  I  behold  with  eyes  not  abstinent  of  weeping 
\avaridipianto].  Fool,  what  do  I  say?  Virtue,  Courage 
among  so  many  cares,  it  is  alone  whose  thoughts  are  dear. 


334         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

This  piccolo  saggio   he  showed  to  the  learned 
Padre  Paciandi  who  replied  in  a  gracious  letter: 

Messer  Francesco  was  kindled  with  love  for  Monna 
Laura  and  thus  unpassioned  himself  [si  disinnamoro] 
and  sang  his  repentance.  Then  again  he  loved  his  Diva 
and  ended  his  days  loving  her  not  indeed  philosophically 
but  as  all  other  men  have  been  wont  to  do.  You,  mio 
gentihssimo  Signor  Conte,  have  taken  up  poetising:  You  will 
only  imitate  that  father  of  Italian  rhymsters  in  this 
amorous  occupation.  If  your  escape  from  its  chains  has 
been  by  force  of  courage  [vzrfw]  as  you  write,  we  must 
hope  that  you  will  not  fall  a  victim  again. 

However  it  be,  the  sonnet  is  good,  sententious,  vibrato 
and  quite  correct.  I  have  happy  auguries  for  you  in  the 
poetic  career  and  for  our  Piedmontese  Parnassus  which 
needs  just  such  men  as  you  to  rise  above  the  vulgar  herd. 

Alfieri,  however,  knew  well  enough  that  the 
worthy  abate  was  flattering  him  and  that  the 
sonnet  was  bad.  But  the  cacoethes  scribendi  had 
seized  him.  He  had  been  prudent  enough  to 
rescue  his  half-finished  "Cleopatra"  and  the 
fit  came  upon  him  to  revise  that  with  the  aid  of 
some  of  his  friends.  He  turned  his  house  into 
a  semi-accademia  di  literati.  While  this  was  going 
on  he  was  taken  with  the  whim  of  going  out 
during  the  last  days  of  the  Carnival  of  1775 
masked  as  Apollo  with  his  lyre,  and  at  the 
theatre  he  sang  some  verses  composed  by  him- 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        335 

self — the  whole  episode  most  contrary  to  his 
natural  disposition. 

In  the  first  of  these  colascionate*  he  makes 
the  statement  that  the  man  who  really  loves  is 
most  unfortunate;  the  false-hearted  is  only 
happy  in  love;  he  who  doth  not  deceive  is 
himself  deceived;  and  he  comes  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I'lnnamorato  fa  trista  figura.  Every- 
one laughs  at  him  and  rightly  too.  L'innamorato 
is  always  a  great  beccone  —  he-goat.  And  he 
ends  by  saying  that  he  has  made  his  dear 
friends  laugh,  and  he  himself  laughs  at  women, 
at  his  friends  and  at  himself.  There  were  three 
of  these  poems  which  he  calls  ridiculous  and 
foolish,  and  he  transcribes  them  to  let  the  world 
see  them  as  "an  authentic  monument  of  his  lack 
of  skill  in  everything  that  was  becoming  and 
decent. " 

Next  he  revised  his  "Cleopatra  Tragedia"  and 
sent  the  first  act  to  the  benignant  Padre  Paciandi 
to  taste  of  it.  The  worthy  priest  thought  the 
play  showed  genius,  fecund  imagination,  and 
judgment  in  its  plan,  but  he  had  to  find  fault  with 
the  poetry:  the  lines  he  wrote  were  not  well 


*From  Colascion,  the  two-stringed  Italian  lute;  hence  a  poem  sung  to 
music. 


336         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

turned  and  failed  of  the  giro  Italiano  —  Italian 
swing  or  order.  His  spelling  was  vicious, 
and  he  suggested  several  text-books  to  read 
on  grammar  and  orthography.  Some  of  the 
marginal  notes  greatly  amused  Alfieri,  as  for 
instance  in  the  i84th  line  where  he  had  spoken 
of  il  latrato  del  cor  —  the  barking  of  the  horn  - 
and  the  priest  suggested  that  the  metaphor  was 
exceedingly  canine. 

He  wrote  the  "Cleopatra"  a  third  time  and  had 
it  performed  in  the  theatre  at  Turin  in  June 
1775.  He  transcribes  also  parts  of  this  version 
as  a  proof  of  his  asininity.  After  the  tragedy 
a  short  piece  in  prose  entitled  "I  Poeti"  written 
by  Alfieri  made  satiric  sport  of  the  Cleopatrassa. 
He  himself  was  represented  as  Zeusippo,  but 
he  also  satirised  other  playwrights,  whose 
tragedies  he  says  were  the  mature  fruit  of 
learned  incapacity,  while  his  was  the  prema- 
ture offspring  of  a  capable  ignorance. 

Both  of  them  were  applauded  but  he  soon 
withdrew  them.  His  heart  was  filled  with  the 
keenest  ambition  to  win  some  day  a  true  theatric 
palm.  With  this  absurd  and  feeble  manner  he 
made  his  first  appearance  before  the  public. 

He  was  now  twenty-seven  and  with  resolute, 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY         337 

obstinate  and  indomitable  courage,  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  fire  and  of  gentleness,  with 
the  intensest  hatred  of  tyranny  he  began  to 
prepare  himself  for  his  career.  He  had  prac- 
tically to  begin  at  the  very  beginning  and  acquire 
his  native  language.  Indeed  his  first  serious 
attempts  had  been  in  French.  He  translated 
them  into  Italian,  but  he  found  they  lost  the 
little  power  they  had.*  He  studied  Tasso, 
Ariosto,  then  Dante.  After  spending  six  months 
in  learning  Italian  he  began  to  relearn  Latin, 
and  in  three  months  became  a  fair  scholar. 
But  largely  through  the  encouragement  of  his 
friends  Paciandi  and  Count  Tana  he  kept  up 
the  feroce  contlnua  battaglia  and  says  "If 
I  become  a  poet  I  ought  to  sign  myself  one 
by  Grace  of  God  and  of  Paciandi  and  of 
Tana." 

Paciandi  sent  him  the  "Galateo"  of  Casa  to 
study,  but  when  he  opened  it  and  came  across  the 
first  portentous  conjunction — conciossiacosache, 
inasmuch  as — introducinga  long  pompous  phrase, 
he  was  so  angry  that  he  flung  the  book  out  of 

*  He  says  his  tragedies  were  amphibious  things  swimming  between 
French  and  Italian  without  being  either,  and  again  he  compares  them 
to  the  brown  color — che  non  e  nero  ancora,  e  il  bianco  muore — mentioned 
by  Dante. 


338         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

the  window,  with  a  howl  of  rage  at  its  pedantry. 
And  he  says  he  did  not  take  up  "II  Galateo" 
for  many  years  until  his  shoulders  and  his 
neck  were  calloused  in  enduring  the  grammatic 
yoke. 

His  first  labours  were  in  translation,  and  I 
need  not  mention  all  the  works  which  he  put 
into  his  best  Italian:  they  included  Horace  and 
Seneca  and  Racine.  But  when  he  began  to 
compose  his  own  tragedies  he  found  himself  too 
much  influenced  by  the  authors  he  had  read, and 
for  that  reason  he  gave  up  reading  Shakespeare 
—  Shakespeare,  however,  not  in  English, 
but  the  wretched  French  version  of  the  last 
century. 

We  have  followed  his  career  so  far  perhaps 
rather  too  closely,  but  it  seems  to  me  a  most 
valuable  and  stimulating  history:  to  see  the 
evolution  of  this  wonderful  man  and  his 
strenuous  endeavours  to  undo  the  errors  of  a 
false  education. 

The  fourth  epoch  of  his  life  is  devoted 
mainly  to  his  studies  and  his  literary  composi- 
tions. But  it  also  includes  the  story  of  his 
expatriation  for  liberty's  sake,  his  sacrifice  of 
large  means  that  he  might  be  free  to  live  and 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        339 

write.  It  also  includes  that  long  and  strange 
attachment  to  the  Countess  of  Albany,  first  when 
she  was  the  wife  and  then  the  widow  of  Charles 
Edward  Stuart  the  Pretender,  who  had  very 
much  the  same  good  influence  upon  his  literary 
work  that  la  Guiccioli  had  upon  Byron.  It  is 
not  known  whether  he  ever  married  her:  if  so, 
the  ceremony  was  absolutely  private.  His 
description  of  his  first  impression  of  this  lady 
is  very  charming.  And  there  are  other  passages 
that  well  merit  consideration:  but  it  has  been 
my  intention  to  give  chiefly  the  history  of  his 
literary  education  and  therefore  I  must  pass 
over  all  account  of  his  various  compositions;  his 
"Polinices  and  Virginia,"  his  "Agamemnon 
and  Orestes,"  "  his  Congiura  de'  Pazzi,"  his 
"Garzia"  and  "Timoleone."  By  1782  he 
had  fourteen  tragedies  completed,  seven  of 
which  were  the  product  of  about  ten  months' 
work. 

Nor  need  I  speak  of  his  further  travels  or  of 
his  wonderful  passage  of  the  Alps  with  his 
English  horses,  his  escape  from  Paris  at  the 
time  of  the  Revolution,  or  of  his  final  days  in 
Florence  or  of  his  wonderful  acquisition  of 
Greek,  his  translations  of  Greek  and  Latin 


340         A  TEACHER  OF  DANTE 

authors,  his  order  of  Homer,  his  six  extrava- 
gant and  Aristophanean  Comedies,  or  even  of 
his  strange  and  haughty  seclusion  which  he 
allowed  to  be  broken  neither  by  letters  nor 
visits.  Profound  melancholy  and  moody  iras- 
cibility marked  his  genius.  He  finished  his 
memoirs  in  May  1803  and  passed  away  on  the 
eighth  of  October  of  the  same  year.  He  lies  under 
a  costly  mausoleum  design  by  Canova,  erected 
in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce  to  his  memory 
by  the  Countess  of  Albany  who  lies  buried  with 
him. 

Most  of  the  subjects  of  his  tragedies  were  taken 
from  antiquity,  either  classic  or  biblical.  Such 
tragic  episodes  as  the  assassination  of  Agamem- 
non, the  murder  of  Abel,  the  madness  of  King 
Saul,  or  in  more  modern  times  the  pathetic  career 
of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  appealed  to  him.  He 
was  able  to  depict  to  the  life  the  gloomy,  morbid 
nature  of  Philip  II.  His  tendency  was  to 
follow  the  classic  models  and  to  dress  his  few 
characters,  as  it  were,  in  the  simple  draperies  of 
the  antique.  He  permitted  few  ornaments.  His 
lines  therefore  seem  rather  bare,  and  this  aus- 
terity is  intensified  by  his  somewhat  limited 
vocabulary,  his  habit  of  using  the  same  gloomy 


ALFIERI  AND  TRAGEDY        341 

and  terrible  words  again  and  again;  but 
when  it  comes  to  action  the  simplicity  of  the 
plays  unites  itself  to  power,  and  therefore  his 
works  have  held  their  own  upon  the  stage  and 
have  found  worthy  interpreters  in  such  con- 
summate actors  as  Salvini  and  Ristori. 


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